AliciaJM
F/Bury St Edmunds, Suffolk
I am a ‘word dancer’; I love the way words skip (or drag themselves) across the page. I am an eater of cherries who devours poetry too; my tongue pushes the fruity flesh and the essence of words around my mouth ‘til I am sated. But always I am hungry.
We were good.
While you were ****** and I was intoxicated.
I saw you through a Rosé tinted wine glass and felt your eyes caress me through the
Constant,
Concupiscent
THC haze.
We were junkies.
Sybarites on substances,
Addicted to lingered kisses.
****** on lust, wrapped golden.
Eye to eye and skin on skin.
Our altered minds in synchronicity.
Our bodies
pulsing
pulsing
pulsing
To instinct's beat, the almost thereness.
The best bit was always the almost thereness
while high as a kiteness because
After there,
Comes
Here and nowness
And
my mouth is dry
And your lips are tight
And you won’t speak to me.
So I try to ask you if...
But you shut your eyes so you don’t hear me and I know the answer.
You make me hate myself almost as much as you hate me so I know you’ll never love me.
But.
Your lips part in the coldest lie as we lie cold and lonely,
In the shared bed.
Sober and resentful.
La petite mort melancholic.
Me? Do I hate you too?
No!
I just don’t like you any more.
I’m not sure that I ever did.
Apr 2, 2018
Apr 2, 2018 at 8:01 PM UTC
On the other side of the mountain, I will find my nest of nurture
And it will lead me gently to the sea.
And who I'll meet, I know not.
And what I'll do, I know not.
But I know that it will bring me back to me.
Mar 24, 2018
Mar 24, 2018 at 9:41 AM UTC
I drank him in, his eyes the blue of blackest opals.
I breathed him in and then I sipped my gin.
I tasted him, his honeyed spice upon my tongue before I kissed him.
Flushed with the icy warmth of juniper,
My hungry lips upon his sandalwooded skin.
© Alicia Mortlock 2017
Jan 10, 2018
Jan 10, 2018 at 9:24 AM UTC
He is my salt in a world that is too sweet.
Hunger sated, I come.
And then he leaves.
© Alicia Mortlock 2016
Jan 8, 2018
Jan 8, 2018 at 5:18 PM UTC