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Wanderer Feb 2021
Mirror bound, this shadow and I
For once my desire sees eye to eye
Distracting sharp edges and rough play
Searching for that biting darkness I used to crave
On wicked things my heart takes a tumble
Head over heels for salt worn stubble
I just can't shake this ache for fire, for flame
When I taste that razor edge and only get blame
Deep down inside I still feel your grit
Wave after wave, pounding away at it
What I would not give for your finger tips
Drinking full, drinking deep from regretful lips
Plunder. Pillage. Take it all.
If only to leave me panting and raw
Wanderer Feb 2021
Sifting through each little grain
As though sand
Leaving a trail back to reality
Wanderer Jan 2021
A tangled mess
Sucker punched by my own blow hard suckers
Each scrape a deep wound full of poison and rapture
If I could but belt out this volcano of regret that burns deep
Perhaps I could take just one solitary breath that did not taste of you
That wasn't a constant reminder of
What. Could. Be.
Sea witch hair scattered every which where
Like seaweed jamming traffic along the ragged edge of reef
Is there a volunteer?
Someone willing to rehinge this off-the-rails oddity
That is and is not before you
A dead sea of guilty shade
Heavily armored
With fathomless depths of rage and remorse
Wanderer Jan 2021
Pursed lips french exhale into the coldness of late January
On the inhale I can taste your cemetery shadows
The rich, bitter heat of your stalwart heart
Thumping to the tune of midnight
I want to draw on your edges with salt and whiskey
Make it burn, make it hurt
Let it really sink in how far away our fingertips have become
Am I still she?
Is this still me?
Looking for answers under the bird feeder
All I find are empty shells
Wanderer Jan 2021
I caught your scent at the grocery near the cereal isle
Which is funny, you never liked milk much
The telltale whistle you used to find me lost in a store
Echoed through my memory
My heart sang, then sunk
As I realized you've been gone for 8 years
Happy almost birthday anyway
You would be turning 39, still young and with so much left to live
Time, slippery and cruel, rushes past me
I guess I will always be looking for you
My heart softly whistling into the shadows
I miss you.
Wanderer Jan 2021
Honey ripples sticky and sweet
Down the pouted edge of my hungry lips
Slurping softly through the mist, my full moon skin feasts on soft, midnight wind
"Shed, shed , shed" whispers in my ear
I listen
Long grass tickling the curves of my dancing thighs
Laughter, raw and true, sings out above the tree tops
I have never felt so free
Someone on the outside would see a wood nymph
Fingers hard digging into dark earth
Then sprinting fast with willow-the-whips kissing my ribcage
Inked arms out, head back
My feet pounding the rhythm of January up into the stars
Skyclad- Gaelic for naked.
Wanderer Jun 2020
What if it came with storm clouds?
Would it matter if I flooded the space between us with tears?
I look back, 20/20 pulling ******* sore edges
Sorry has a place but not here
My fingertips can feel the warmth of your wanting
Pulling away just like my heart did
Slow, methodical, intent to hurt
No amount of what-could-be would turn me
Even now my words are silent yet I do mean their weight
Whether you've got an oar or not is no matter
Shame lapping at your distant shore
At least I did not ghost you, no no
Much worse in my eyes to me
I pulled along a tug boat with a jet engine
Even while you struggled to be free
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