taryn-bertollini
American
“After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul, and you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning and company doesn’t mean security, and you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t promises, and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes open, with the grace of an adult, not the grief of a child, and you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans. After a while you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much. So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul, instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers. And you learn that you really can endure… that you really are strong, and you really do have worth.” / ~ Written by Veronica A. Shoffstall
Your eyes stunning pools, dark with rings of light around the edge.
I couldn’t look away; divulging secrets in whispers through our eyes, hands, lips.
Our faces flushed with desire, excitement, and the touch of alcohol.
Your arms around my neck and your laughter in my ears; beautiful.
3 a.m. coffee break.
Two steaming mugs and you; bare legs dangling from the counter.
You nudge the cup in my direction with a sleep mused smile and a brush of fingers.
I aim for your lips instead and run my hands up, up, up; you shudder and melt into me.
Lazy days filled with bed sheets, tacks, and pillow fights.
Five years old again and building forts when we should be cleaning the apartment.
Our first Sunday off together in who knows how long.
Your hair looks like a rats nest but your eyes are full of mischief.
I've never seen you so tempting.
You pull your hair into a sloppy bun, give me a saucy wink, and race from the bedroom.
I can't help but shake my head at your antics; I give chase regardless, following your laughter into the kitchen.
'She’s like that book in the back of your closet.
The one you’d been saving for one of those perfect rainy days;
only to realize too late that you have somehow misplaced it.'
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:50 PM UTC
She speaks with her hands.
Long, elegant fingers - pulling, twisting, curling.
Soft and strong - an artist's hands; their uses unlimited.
Her hands clasped so intimately with my own - clenching and unclenching; she directs our motion.
Her back arches as I tighten my grip on her thighs and breath in her scent.
She tastes of honey and sunlight and something bitter that is so indefinably her, I never tire of it.
Her hands fist in the sheets and I am gone; yielding completely.
She tells me it's my lips.
She places kisses along my collar bone and trails them down towards my breast and stares up through her bangs to watch my lips.
She tells me there's a silence in my smile that contents her.
Parting my flesh her fingers etch truths into my skin. I am lost in the imagery of her words.
A chorus of sweet nonsense passes between us and I breath it in, allowing it to spur me towards completion.
I feel the harshness of her breath in my ribs and the trembling of her body as we ride out the waves.
She buries her face in my neck and smiles.
I am content, wrapped securely in the silence that creates her.
Our story, written in the sheets - tomorrows laundry.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:48 PM UTC
Cross eyed
blurred lipped
windows slurred and creased
A screaming red froth comes forth from our insides
and we all make a point to not mention our back sides
And we want all you ********
with those "humble" attires to realize
that you cannot possibly get any higher
And we all die in vain . . .
The pain of surrender still fresh in our minds
And I know for a fact that no matter our belief
or how well we live out our lives in His name
We will all still have the gruesome pleasure
of going out with the "bang"
of His **** in our *****
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC
A tangled mass of comfort and sweat pressed against my side,
I watch your eyes play "tag" with the droplets bleeding into the window.
You lay naked and curled into me, but I know you are gone;
off chasing every raindrop you call "it".
I want you to know - you break me.
You strut straight into my room, paying a little trip - falling into my world.
Taking off just before dawn with an arm or leg or major ***** before slinking off to your own world - inside my room.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:46 PM UTC
I walk down this overgrown trail
twirling past the objects in my way.
Dancing with laughter as I turn
to watch them stub your toes.
Will you never learn to watch your step?
Here . . . in this spot
next to the ripened apple tree and the dead rose bush
I'll wait for you.
The smell of rubbing alcohol and fresh rosemary tickle my nose the closer you hobble towards me.
Your tears of anguish are roughly wiped away as you blow your nose on your sleeve.
. . .
And suddenly I feel terrible for laughing.
Sit down baby.
Let me help with those ****** feet.
Take my shoes girl.
These objects can't touch me.
No sweetie, it's fine -
fill those shoes with blood and grime.
I'll wear them no matter the filth when we find a safer place for your unclad feet to tread.
Clime into my pocket beautiful;
I'll carry you to a better path.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:45 PM UTC
Take my hand babe; I've got a plan for us.
If we can't go home again then lets pack up and drive.
We'll take our coats and our dreams, but we'll leave our shoes behind.
With back packs full of hope we'll head out west like outlaws.
We'll drive past the bull **** and spend our days exploring ourselves, inside and out.
We'll leave our doubts in the dust and when we reach the edge we'll jump with no fear.
We'll stand where the states touch and feel infinite.
And if the west coast holds no secrets for us, we'll hop continents until we find our own fountain of youth.
We'll try for the stars babe and if we should miss, no worries, any blood lost can only make us stronger.
And if it all gets to be too much for you; I'll be around to dust you off and hold you close until the tears subside.
If the sun wont have us, then we'll walk in the rain, and I promise you'll always feel loved.
And should we be separated, for any reason, you'll find me at the cross roads every time.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:44 PM UTC
Bring back the days of rooftop dwelling and starry eyed drinks.
The 4 a.m. late nighters filled with drug induced conversations.
You and I cuddled up on the ledge with only a thin blanket and our dreams to keep us warm.
We spoke of life, the universe, and everything; and I remember wondering if our passion would last.
We talked and ****** and laughed our childhood away and now, barely adults, we are already so jaded.
Unsure of who we are and where we are going.
And on these lonely nights when I long for the intimacy of your arms and the sunlight of your voice, I reach back for those moments of our youth.
Flip through them as if to memorize the details I forgot.
Trying to hold on to something all ready so faded so that I can always remember the time before this little girl grew up to find that fairy tales are myth.
A time before she realized without a doubt that her prince would never show and settled into the arms of someone who would never deserve her.
On these lonely nights when reality becomes too much,
I think of rooftop dwelling and starry eyed drinks, but above all, I think of you, remembering when we were just two little kids filled with hope, and I find myself again.
Aug 9, 2011
Aug 9, 2011 at 6:40 PM UTC