Missing most the tender moments The moments your hand slides to my knee and squeezes just enough to let me know that even when your eyes are focused on the future on the road we are traveling down together you are glad I am by your side.
My mind is locked in the moments where our souls spark and bounce between our eyes. Just the slow moments where time moves like molasses and we can swim in the static created by the meeting of lips.
The golden light between our bodies splashes across home walls as we move apart before slamming home together.
Safe in the cave of sheets, the sound muffled by the secret moments we create.
Laughter ripples from the top of my body to the bottom stopping to vibrate as if you pour happiness straight into me. Cleaning our hands by rubbing them together under the never-ending spout of love we have built here in the ancient remains of all the others who have done the same.
Mar 11, 2021
Mar 11, 2021 at 7:17 AM UTC
I can't shake the feeling that you are gone.
Pacing through the kitchen hoping that I'm wrong.
Keep on thinking that last night you said goodbye
and the anger keeps on throbbing with the loud ringing demand of, why?
Used to being alone but somehow this feels new.
These four walls seem to have changed overnight like they have released the scent of you. Back to being mine and mine alone a palace built for one.
Not what I want. Not what I need. Just where I am.
Tears drip through the phone flowing through oceans begging for guidance. Please tell me what to do and the familiar advice slips easy through. Take a piece of your heart, bury it deep, lock it away, keep it just for you.
Don't let anyone close enough to touch the beating pulsing essence you must keep to survive. Build walls, strengthen defenses, build bars with smiles.
Not what I want. Not what I need. Just where I am.
Keep on thinking last night you said goodbye.
Can't shake the feeling that you are gone.
Twisting my aching gut in sheets slick with saddened salt, hoping that I'm wrong.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 6:32 AM UTC
Whisper it to me when you hold me tight
somewhere between the pillows and the dawning light.
When my worries are languid and spent.
While I curl around you euphoric and content.
Hide it in the melodies we send to fill the vacant night.
Promise me no more days of suspicion and spite.
Let every word between us leave us feeling satisfied.
Let me drink from your voice, a well that never dried.
Wrap me in it softly and bury the remaining fight.
Let me taste it in your kisses and feel it in your bite.
If you must leave me, leave me in this bliss.
Always leaving time for one last kiss.
Spill it across my skin like ink, always in sight.
Let me hear it growl in the engine you ignite,
blazing and flashing bright.
And when I'm out of arms reach,
I hope I hear it in the wind the batters this northern beach.
Pour it on my soul and watch the passions you incite.
Tell me it is okay to give in to this tonight.
Tell me I am not alone in this delight and then
tell me one more time how we just feel right.
Jan 23, 2021
Jan 23, 2021 at 1:00 PM UTC
Everything here is yellow.
Lemons play hide and seek in the twisted winding streets.
And the mind becomes slow, like liquid mellow.
My feet on ancient cobblestone tapping out new beats.
While my tongue swims through the limoncello.
Everything here is old.
The sand is black a small reminder of an ancient doom.
My dear friend yesterday reminding me to be bold.
To seek out answers from those who lie quiet in an volcanic tomb.
Everything here is sweet.
My lips a constant rosy red from the blood of wine.
One cannot help but be drawn into the mother natures ****
Drinking in a new sensuality, delicious in every curve and line.
Italy gives the world warmth and time.
A lovely old woman bearing the lines of love.
To never visit her dusky shores must surely be a cosmic crime.
For this land has been given all things good from above.
May 27, 2018
May 27, 2018 at 5:52 AM UTC
Utterly petrified,
toes dangling precipitously over the bluff.
Transfixed on the swirling pain below mighty in its ancient tide.
Entranced by the dazzling facets twinkling from my diamond in the rough.
But I can still feel the salt trails from the last time I cried.
I can feel them linger tender on my breast.
And I look at you with with such cosmic wonder, truly starry eyed.
I want to be your home not the ever present guest.
How I wish I could trust you.
Give myself to you with strength and poise.
I wish I could find a loving pattern in the things you do.
Desperately I try and find my level voice clandestine in the noise.
Hiding the fear in spaces you have yet to see through.
I yearn for you with something deeper even than lust.
I wish you could see the beautiful despair you instill.
Every inch of me begs to keep you here between every ******
Then your departure wakes me from my transcendent stupor, sharp and shrill.
Maybe one day you will walk my inner sanctum, with enough time and a little more trust.
Feb 1, 2018
Feb 1, 2018 at 11:17 PM UTC
I miss you.
I miss the way your eyes shone when they set on ancient stone.
I miss the cadence of your dusky voice when it spoke to those no one else could see.
I miss the glee that drove you deeper to the past.
I miss all the love you once had to give.
I miss you, my tender wild adventurer.
I love you my vicious beastie.
I wish I could find you once more.
Sit and talk for awhile of all of the things that were felt, of all of the things that were said. Of all of the beautiful traumas and the wonderful scars.
You were beautiful in your poetic misery. In your deep blue aloneness. You were a vision on the shores of the Loch. I wonder now and again where you are. Are you wandering round this globe or are you quite trapped, as I suspect you are. Because sometimes I see you beating on the brown bars of your cell, when I look in the mirror.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:50 PM UTC
Home.
He whispered.
I felt the warmth slide down the smooth skin just behind my ear.
Home.
His lips pressed gently upon my forehead.
Come home.
This time louder.
Harsher.
Come home darling.
His accent thick and broad.
Aren't you tired?
Come rest by my side. Come drift in the heather high on the moors.
Come home to me.
Aren't you weary from the fight shield maiden?
Lay down your broad sword, remove your boiled leather let the ravens report your homecoming.
Come home.
Then his lips are on mine and they taste of the earth, of the dirt, of the mist, and that land of mine.
Home.
My eyes open and I see my ghost.
I knew it was you. Must it always be ?
Must it always be you who awakens me, who calls me home.
Just send me the mist. Just send me the moors. Just send me the piercing chill of the harbor in December. Wake me with the ancient call of gulls. Enough of the tortured remnants of the past we must both hide. Enough of this my love. Enough of this, goodbye.
Dec 3, 2017
Dec 3, 2017 at 2:35 PM UTC
We danced on the cliff you and I. Born of love and light. Bred of sadness and darkness. Melted together, alone but alive. Our love smelled of the earth and of the chalk and the timelessness of it all. And I think now of all the lovers who have stood where we stood. Of all of the stories of love and loss that have roots in the chalk beneath our feet, above our heads held close together preserving our perfect quiet world. I wonder how many arms clung tight to each other against the future stretching out like the channel before us. And I wonder about the thousands of years these cliffs have been stage to the greatest dramas of so many lives. Were any of them as torn as I was? Does my misery, my sadness, my loss and confusion mingle with theirs now? Is my heartbreak their company in the mist? How many of them had to watch the love of their life disappear into the English fog like I had to watch you go? I yearn for that love. For the power of it. I ache for it to fill me once more like the sea salt and mist that settles over, I strive for the way it felt when you stood next to me in Dover.
Nov 24, 2017
Nov 24, 2017 at 4:42 PM UTC
She has been burnt and scarred.
From long days in purple mountain sun.
There are scars from battles I've won.
There are lines from where it has been marred.
I trace the precious lines of my many tattoos.
My ink, my story, my battle paint.
I suppose they don't really tell the story of a saint.
Then there are the bruises of beautiful blacks and blues.
Earned from long hard days at work and play.
She has stretched over heartbreaks and Thanksgiving dinners.
But these curves aren't for beginners.
Only the bold can travel on this carnal highway.
I have been both proud and ashamed of her.
She has been poked, prodded and grabbed.
She has been caressed and stabbed.
She isn't for some amateur.
I have hated and adored this temple I am in
She has been strong and weak.
She has been radiant and bleak.
But I am proud of this skin.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 7:17 PM UTC
I swallow hard
I can see it move down my throat
The slender curve of my neck scarred
The memory fights to stay afloat
It claws it's way back up and in.
It's scent tearing at my skin.
For a moment I hate her.
The girl standing before me,
I hate her for giving up,
I hate her for giving in
I hate her for not being stronger
For letting her weakness win.
But I can't keep breaking mirrors,
and hating reflections.
No good can come from hating what others have done.
She fought, she screamed, and cried.
I f**king tried.
I can't be a slave to yesterday and my thickening pride.
I followed a dream over the horizon.
Swam in the dark side of the moon.
Felt pleasure, love, and freedom on the other side of that dune.
But I only hold the reins to myself
I cannot control them, or him.
It's just me, overflowing, and full to the brim.
Then she stands tall, her slender neck strong, a deep breath drawn.
And strength brings color back to her cheeks.
The hatred, and memories gone, placed firmly in the past.
And I recognize myself again at last.
Jul 10, 2017
Jul 10, 2017 at 6:57 PM UTC