Once the battle was won and the insurgency winded down,
Back to the home front he went, thinking it was all over now.
Although physically absent from war, his mind never left,
And even after four years, he still can’t find himself.
The occasional escape, when he catches a chance to drift.
Until their eyes pull him back, pull him right back in the midst.
Back into the hell he thought he was fortunate to escape.
Back to his dead comrades, he would gladly take their place,
Instead of being reminded daily that he’s lucky to be alive.
Because he had to die, completely, in order to survive
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:53 AM UTC
His hand paints as a brush guided by her shape.
As lips leave impressions for the other to taste.
He Breathes and holds what was just exhaled.
Capturing the essence, savoring her used air.
Steered by his nose, her chin doth rise.
He kisses her neck, while she closes her eyes.
Directed by the heavens of creation and fall.
Tonight, together, they answer the call.
Passion, desire, pumped through the veins.
She pulls on his lips, he pulls at her lace.
She wiggles out of her ******* on comes the lever.
That fills up the cup with indulgence in pleasure.
Latches and buckles and the picking of locks.
Dress is ripped, while kissing, and taking off socks.
Held strong in strong arms, but soft on the bedding.
He arrives at parting skies as she starts sweating.
Dancing in unison, discovering wonders innate
Movement in moment, captured somewhere in space
Jun 4, 2013
Jun 4, 2013 at 12:52 AM UTC
The light which breaks at dusk through a window
The sunlight is fragmented into ripples of rainbow
They flicker and pulse, and what little do they know
They dance to remember, of once being whole
The breeze which winds at dusk from the west
Whispers cooly in the ear a rumor of a test
And as the dust is lifted and sent a million ways
Think each a separate journey, perspective falls into place
The mockingbird which sings at dusk off of a perch
Tries to find a way, with the best view on the earth
Yet she sings others’ songs for others to hear
While the story of herself falls on a forest of deaf ears
The 7 o'clock chime which rings at dusk from the basement
Interrupts from the dust, with a tone of displacement
The chimes remind, a whole seperated by the divide
For love was once here, but it won’t be for some time
Jun 2, 2013
Jun 2, 2013 at 1:34 AM UTC