aeolis-est - Hello Poetry

Now that you’re gone, I know exactly what to say. I remember a lot of small things, things I know that would make you smile, and I see that smile when I close my eyes. I see the way you would curl your hair out of your eyes with a finger, I see a bashful look, I see a heated gaze, I see a single tear. I think of you when I listen to St. Vincent. Not because her lyrics remind me of you, but rather because her music puts me in the mood for nostalgia, and her voice makes me want to weep. The two are often synonymous, you know, often at unpleasant times. I hate the fact that we failed, but glad to know you’re happy. I have very little regrets in my life. I see you laughing, and I know it’s not for me. I cannot lie and say it no longer hurts, I don’t think that can ever change. But part of me, a big part, really just hopes you’re happy in his arms. Another part of me demands it. You destroyed my world just to be with him, he better ******* make you happy. I hear your voice when I take a shower. Ok, maybe not yours, but yours and yours and yours. I remember conversations that were too important to stop, so one of us would shower, and the other would sit in the bathroom, and we’d talk until the water ran cold, and the room was so foggy I’d laugh to see it climbing out. I still draw back the curtain sometimes, expecting to see you sitting there, a half smile on your lips, a questioning look in those lovely hazel/green/brown/hazel eyes. I love to drive, I loved driving with you even more. With you sitting in the seat next to me, I felt that seat was always yours, and even now when other people sit there, I sometimes feel like they’re just borrowing YOUR seat. Tonight, maybe tomorrow, I’ll go pick you up and we’ll drive off for a while. Then you’d snake your hand across the console, and let your fingers brush mine... I lived for those moments, and I never told you how important they were.

0

Mar 19, 2013

Mar 19, 2013 at 11:33 AM UTC

Dreamtime

Now that you’re gone, I know exactly what to say. I remember a lot of small things, things I know that would make you smile, and I see that smile when I close my eyes. I see the way you would curl your hair out of your eyes with a finger, I see a bashful look, I see a heated gaze, I see a single tear. I think of you when I listen to St. Vincent. Not because her lyrics remind me of you, but rather because her music puts me in the mood for nostalgia, and her voice makes me want to weep. The two are often synonymous, you know, often at unpleasant times. I hate the fact that we failed, but glad to know you’re happy. I have very little regrets in my life. I see you laughing, and I know it’s not for me. I cannot lie and say it no longer hurts, I don’t think that can ever change. But part of me, a big part, really just hopes you’re happy in his arms. Another part of me demands it. You destroyed my world just to be with him, he better ******* make you happy. I hear your voice when I take a shower. Ok, maybe not yours, but yours and yours and yours. I remember conversations that were too important to stop, so one of us would shower, and the other would sit in the bathroom, and we’d talk until the water ran cold, and the room was so foggy I’d laugh to see it climbing out. I still draw back the curtain sometimes, expecting to see you sitting there, a half smile on your lips, a questioning look in those lovely hazel/green/brown/hazel eyes. I love to drive, I loved driving with you even more. With you sitting in the seat next to me, I felt that seat was always yours, and even now when other people sit there, I sometimes feel like they’re just borrowing YOUR seat. Tonight, maybe tomorrow, I’ll go pick you up and we’ll drive off for a while. Then you’d snake your hand across the console, and let your fingers brush mine... I lived for those moments, and I never told you how important they were.

22

We did a mind exercise before we began We knelt together and sought the Stillness Guided meditation to my place of peace When we started, she was fully clothed As soon as I hit the place in my head I needed to be, I whispered to her Wa, and it told me what I needed to do I pushed her to the floor, pulling her sweatshirt up, obscuring her face, then twisted her around to pull off her shorts, leaving the sweatshirt in place I did it all by feel, embracing the darkness, letting the rope guide me instant headspace for her she started crying almost immediately and it was soooo tight when I was finished, and I had taken my pictures, I turned the light out again and held her in the darkness she thanked me for the tie, told me it was perfect silence i could hear her breathing, softly crying and then she whispered "i love you, sir."

0

Mar 19, 2013

Mar 19, 2013 at 11:30 AM UTC

In the darkness

We did a mind exercise before we began We knelt together and sought the Stillness Guided meditation to my place of peace When we started, she was fully clothed As soon as I hit the place in my head I needed to be, I whispered to her Wa, and it told me what I needed to do I pushed her to the floor, pulling her sweatshirt up, obscuring her face, then twisted her around to pull off her shorts, leaving the sweatshirt in place I did it all by feel, embracing the darkness, letting the rope guide me instant headspace for her she started crying almost immediately and it was soooo tight when I was finished, and I had taken my pictures, I turned the light out again and held her in the darkness she thanked me for the tie, told me it was perfect silence i could hear her breathing, softly crying and then she whispered "i love you, sir."

28

Hot, wet, intense. Sweat smell blends with *** smell blends with the musk of arousal and **** Animal sounds, lingering with the sounds of passion, intermingled with the urgent whispers of love and affection. “I love you.” Echoes and echoes and echoes, never quite dissipating in the chambers of the mind, never quite fading enough to allow the pain to end. A sudden inhalation of breath, the moment of realization, the gasp of terror echoing in the silence of a dark room. Quick, strident breathing now, fear blending with discomfort and bleeding into true pain as the bindings grow damp from sweat. That sound wasn't her sound wasn't his sound, wasn't anything at all. Except that that isn't really the truth... Is it? I love watching the realization of suffering blossom like a delicate flower, gentle and steady, the undeniable growth of blinding intricate agony. Watching it dawn on the unfortunate that has come under the knife, to truly know what one asked can truly be given. Not at their demand, but at my desire. The swirling blend of flavors, pain and fear and lust and need and desire all blending together into a heady, intoxicating aroma. A place where the expectation of suffering ends and the reality of what it means to ask to be broken begins. "THIS IS NO LONGER COMFORTABLE!" The body screams, begging for release, begging for something to end, for something to break. Often, it is the fragility of the psyche that goes long before the frailty of the body.

0

Mar 19, 2013

Mar 19, 2013 at 11:28 AM UTC

Flavor

Hot, wet, intense. Sweat smell blends with *** smell blends with the musk of arousal and **** Animal sounds, lingering with the sounds of passion, intermingled with the urgent whispers of love and affection. “I love you.” Echoes and echoes and echoes, never quite dissipating in the chambers of the mind, never quite fading enough to allow the pain to end. A sudden inhalation of breath, the moment of realization, the gasp of terror echoing in the silence of a dark room. Quick, strident breathing now, fear blending with discomfort and bleeding into true pain as the bindings grow damp from sweat. That sound wasn't her sound wasn't his sound, wasn't anything at all. Except that that isn't really the truth... Is it? I love watching the realization of suffering blossom like a delicate flower, gentle and steady, the undeniable growth of blinding intricate agony. Watching it dawn on the unfortunate that has come under the knife, to truly know what one asked can truly be given. Not at their demand, but at my desire. The swirling blend of flavors, pain and fear and lust and need and desire all blending together into a heady, intoxicating aroma. A place where the expectation of suffering ends and the reality of what it means to ask to be broken begins. "THIS IS NO LONGER COMFORTABLE!" The body screams, begging for release, begging for something to end, for something to break. Often, it is the fragility of the psyche that goes long before the frailty of the body.

18

in an autumn breeze the barest whisper is heard winter is coming

0

Mar 19, 2013

Mar 19, 2013 at 11:24 AM UTC

Skyfire