The world takes out its blade
And whittles away
On all that you do
On all that you say

Pared to the bone are you
Naked without cover
All of your dignity stripped away
Nothing is left in the souls bay

Sometimes though its blades
Are ***** and dull
As it whittles you
Into something you're not

The disfigurement of you
At the cruel knife's behest
Where a lasting scar
Stays ingrained in your breast

You find you slowly bleed out
From what you once were
Beginning to end
Carved up by the world

The redeemable pieces of yourself are pasted together
To go forward with the tools of hope
The spirit within is broken
But in this life you find a way to cope

.

Whispering apricot beams shine upon frilly sheers,
lazy shadows dance in daffodil dawn colours,
pirouettes of pleasured moments,
silently flowing on smooth brush stroke walls

You breathe, softly, the sweetest sonnet,
rhythmically exhaling beneath satin sheets
symphonic…bringing a grin to the sunrise,
blushing clouds hide behind a bashful horizon

Placing a gentle kiss upon rose petal shoulders,
you stir ever so slightly…eyes flutter, chiffon wings
hugging the pillow wistfully, floating within,
cascading between dreams of us

Exploring the mesmerizing curves of your body,
my lips touch warm porcelain skin,
the faintest sigh escapes, a smile appears
as your wispy fingers seek my own

A purr escapes, whispered desires sooth,
tranquil thighs twitch as they part slightly,
the sweetest scent tempts me, awash in dewdrop bliss,
glistening beads of summer rain memories

Probing gentle folds, serene recesses of silken slivers
sipping the morns perfect elixir, ambrosia,
seeing your eyes wide open now
and falling once more deeply into their hypnotic beauty

Maple sugar cravings, slippery pearlescent glimmers,
tasting your flavors as methodical moans sift dawns hush,
drippings linger my lips…nectarous indulgence,
essence of honeysuckle breezes

Hands ****** my hair, wavy lengths, grasping  
tickling heated embraces, melting into the morning
reaching beneath arching form…pulling nearer, closer
quilted comfort massages

Sunshine illumines the room with sparkled effervescence,
writhing deep into the blue sky destinations,
azure visions of springtime promises kept
and green grass wanderings

I rise with you, fall with you…with this perfect time,  
mirroring movements in reflective crescendos, rapidly,
as your voice sings my name, feathered pillow melodies,
ending in an ovation in hummingbird quivers

And you collapse, tethered breaths, tiny giggles
pulling the sheets tight to your chin playfully
I peer up, cinnamon eyes gleam, twinkle
*rejoicing as brand new day begins…in love

The selkie sits on solemn sands,
Her hair a curtain wet.
She sings her songs of splendid seas -
A shining silhouette.

Her lily coat lies loosely strung,
Her shoulders slim and white,
She sighs with sounds of salty spray;
A voice of naught and night.

let's pretend
we are not yet born
inside zebras
moons
layers
I just love the fragmented world
in your eyes
give me your pride
I'll clean the streets with it
I wonder who would notice
we are going to be born
from the womb of morning
with jasmine in our fingerprints
the world stares back
through glass eyes
ego psychology everywhere
like a plague
like a roller coaster
my butterfly heart
is moving the air
towards silence
I need to tell the difference
between you and you
but my eyes are full
of blue feathers
look, things have drowned
their names
dividing the depths
of living
I slowly phagocytate you
like a wave without direction
just before my eyes -
this rush, excitement, fear, quietness
this you-quality
suddenly turns into I-quality
as the belly of that
second empties itself
into no-more-than-life

Looking into your green eyes
makes me want to be warrior monk
in the service of beauty,
wandering the earth
on a sublime quest
to slay dragons, destroy demons
and bring them to lay
at your feet as offerings
before the holy altar
of your lovely gaze.
Only blink and I will do this;
Only wink and it is done.
   ~mce

I sit tinkering
with the bells in the wood
flicking the bell this way and that
Not doing me that much good.
Playing with my head
and that is not sheet music
it is regrets and bashed dreams
shot down completely dead.
The blues I call it the lavender blues
blue rinses, phone calls and lonely beds.
Not with fruity flowers but dried hay
I have the lavender blues that is
all that I can possibly say.