one beaded drop of sweat, traverses the canyons
and ridges of his,
finely muscled back
slow ..quick.. slow
in rhythm with his .....
i am transfixed,
by the little bead's progress
hesitant to portend
as it wends it's way downward.
i want to halt...
the glistening jewel's journey with the tip of my tongue.....cat-like,
lapping at smooth milk
but that would be.....
........a bit weird.....
i expect the young god cycling, before me in
the spin class may think me odd
if i leapt forward and licked his salty back....
...but an old girl can dream!
Little beads of perspiration began to form all over his skin, tanned by the sun's fury.
Jonah stared up at the sky and uttered a sigh of relief when a gentle breeze interrupted the unrelenting heat of the day.
Though the views were nice and he was never at risk of not having something to record or take note of in his water color-stained journal, Jonah knew he was a prisoner on the ship…
Folding Foes, walk yourself down the Georgian line
Sweet savanna wrap around porches in summer sweat
Crushing companies sipping sweet tea on pedestals above me
Anchored at average is that old adage that it attached to the lattice that they try to get past us.
Nailed shoes to our feet and glued to our seat, living in lies and deceit, trying to force our defeat and to break the decree
And by me.
Thee, the only lonely listeners of our own sweet soliloquies
In ripping tides of attention tearing through hate and affection,
Is found a pain never to mention for any chosen direction.
Now our learning gets lost in the lesson.
It started with tension, then moves to intervention, but ends with rejection.
Where now it lends to those friends that tend to your need to mend
Fists bruised,trembling, and drowning down
The death sweat invites the cold horrors
The curse of blinding pain
Ruthless and wicked
White mouths escaping outside
A cruel bird screams through the images
A soul of sorrow walks outside