In her closet next to a shirt
hangs a concertina pleated skirt
she slips it on with grace and ease
the tiny pleats are there to please
like a million shimmering crystal shards
all tightly pressed like a pack of cards
as she moves they sway and dance
upon her legs they tickle and prance
the feeling makes her smile and shiver
which makes the pleats start to quiver
they skim and flatter her hips and ***
like the majestic rays of a rising sun
such carnal delights found in a skirt
as she hangs it back next to the shirt.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:41 PM UTC
Hidden gestures are like a dagger,
concealed beneath the cloak during a dueling feud,
the end result might not be apparent,
however, the revelation of its polished steel,
makes it emphatic.
Oct 20, 2015
Oct 20, 2015 at 2:39 PM UTC
Sticky
and sweet
the fingers
of love
that travel down
in tingles:
a liquid storm
in nothing but
a rush of fire
Wet
and discrete
the lips of heaven
that smother
and capture with haste;
a halo so wide
that not even
lust
could quickly retire
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:09 AM UTC
Whilst all around, our cares we tend,
a sheaf of corn catches glinting eye,
no yoke to bear, no toil and strife,
a golden prize is there to take,
dark skies above, a listless wind,
two dogs bark with tales to tell,
a distant train pulls iron and steel,
little belly starts to twitch, a yawn, a scratch,
a nose to sniff,
a thousand years is fuel indeed,
for spindle legs to run the course,
over twigs and stones, the gauntlet thrown,
a heavenly morsel to be found,
Through the window a furrowed brow,
sleep must mask the answers sought,
farmer pens his sums with haste,
whilst out in the field the conqueror spoils,
snug and warm, content and fed.
Jul 13, 2015
Jul 13, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
If I was to gaze into those eyes what would I see,
diamonds and jewels glistening in the morning dew,
blazing fire as they gaze into a crimson sky,
the blood red reflections mirroring your burning soul,
in such vitreous pools lay anchored ships of fools,
casting off their chains , setting sail to faraway lands,
ghosts that wander through the shadows,
moonbeams reflecting on a porcelain skin,
beacons through the darkness shining forth on rainbow shores,
there shall I seek my sanctuary until mornings new light.
Jun 17, 2015
Jun 17, 2015 at 7:15 AM UTC
She came upon a white horse,
through those dark melancholic shadows,
her long black hair glistening under a blood red moon,
the paleness of her skin reflecting its caustic beams,
dazzling, beguiling, she comes for my soul,
the fire from her eyes burning my core,
searching through the dark folds of night,
she finds me and takes my hand,
it sears, it burns but I must embrace this pain,
pulling me from the darkness of this rancid void,
her great black wings shielding me from the light,
I surrender it all to my angel of the night.
May 26, 2015
May 26, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Twisted tales of how you fought a dragon,
silver scales pulsating through your veins,
the beating heart racing through your mind,
its great wings an ice cold wind through your soul,
from its mouth the fire bellows within your skin,
the great roar screams through your spirit ,
writhing, serpentine body wrapping around your limbs,
run it through with your sword of enlightenment,
the clash of steel against its claws of devourment,
its magical, golden blood, now your bitter nectar,
the battle won through a mortal embrace,
so raise your lance in triumphant accord,
but keep up your shield and remember the pain,
chasing dragons through the mist and the rain.
May 18, 2015
May 18, 2015 at 11:33 PM UTC
Sometimes we sit in quiet expectation that the other will speak
only to be greeted by the silence of internal solitude
if we may hear the sound of our own breath
then do we know that life is indeed still in abode
does the other understand our internal rhyme
the words that keep the heart in its beat
the soul drags its bow across the taut strings
a sorrowful malady does spring forth from its tune
would that the other hear this internal melody
then hope might indeed cement over these cracks
scripts are always written at the lovers behest
only to be discarded by its woeful actors
scenes played to no rapturous applause
bows taken in haste with exits gratefully received.
May 13, 2015
May 13, 2015 at 6:29 PM UTC
I was opened the wrong way
forced against the natural motion
once carefully constructed and precision made
now laid down and broken asunder
hanging precariously from the frame
waiting to be fixed and aligned
I have become unhinged
everything bent out of shape
delicately balanced and waiting for the fall
won't someone fix these hinges
***** them back into the wall
won't someone hang me straight and true
all the tools are here, it's not hard to do.
Apr 29, 2015
Apr 29, 2015 at 4:41 PM UTC
some people don't believe in ghosts,
but i am not one of those people,
because you are a ghost
in every sense of the word
//
whenever i close my eyes, i
do not see black anymore instead i see
your body strung up in your closet
with your eyes closed, as if you were at rest
i don’t know where you are but hopefully you
are getting some rest because i am
tearing myself apart because it doesn’t seem like
you’re gone
the curtains they’re half opened just like you left it
the kitchen is still a mess
the coffee stain that you promised to clean up but didn’t
is still there and i swear when i close my eyes and then
put my head on your pillow i can still hear
your even breath against my neck
and those are the only nights i ever get any sleep
so excuse me for thinking you’re not gone
because in my mind you aren’t
you’re still there next to me on the coach
and you are still complaining about how unrealistic everything is;
you are still next to me and i know that because i am telling you to
shut up, shut up, shut up
my therapist says that it’s my brain’s way of
coping with pain but that doesn’t make any sense to me
because my heart is still beating
and if my brain really wanted to cope with pain it would
shut down, it would collapse; like your body did when
it couldn’t handle the pain
because let me tell you something: i can’t handle this pain
this never ending torture of dancing delicately around the fact that
you are dead and i am very well alive even though
i don’t want to be, even though my hands have no purpose
without holding yours, my arms
nothing but useless props anymore and that is why
you are very well alive in
my mind because if you weren't i know that i would collapse
*some people don't believe in ghosts,
but i am not one of those people,
because you are a ghost
in every sense of the word.*
(h.l.)
Apr 27, 2015
Apr 27, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC