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 Oct 2015 Emma Hill
Wednesday
Touch
 Oct 2015 Emma Hill
Wednesday
You can't really blame me, you know.
It's not my fault someone else's hands
can hold me so much better than my own.

Ah. the forbidden sense.
The tell us this is a true connection,
a fault in our armor.

To let fingertips raise goosebumps on your ribcage,
to know what it is like to run your nails on a persons scalp.

To let someone else have a sense of entitlement
and control over your body.
Do not tell me this is a bad thing.

A caress, a slap, an embrace.
Knuckles wrapping around your neck.

This could have been you.

I loved you, first.
I love you, even now.
 Oct 2015 Emma Hill
Mike Essig
Your body
clamps to mine
like a magnet
or an electric eel.

Feel the jolting
current bounce
and flow and
jerking take
hold of you.

Particles dance
us tighter
together
like fleshly
puppets.

See how we
clutch and
writhe and
grind, hum
like overloaded
lines.

No escape
once you
touch the
live wire.

And anyway:

nowhere else
you want
but here;
nothing else
you want
to be,

but a jello mold
of...

Quantum,
Quivering,
Lust.

- mce
weezy
Not enough words are ever told.
We just think she's aware.
Simply because to others she's known as your woman.

Look her in the eyes.
Tell her, she's wonderful.
Look her in the eyes.
Tell her, she's beautiful.

Look her in the eyes.
And tell tell her, you love her.
Then watch that smile gleam.
Watch her eyes beam.

Look her in the eyes.
Tell her, she's a living dream.
To you, she's everything.
More than that she's your appointed Queen.

And watch what you receive in return?
Loving arms surrounding you.
Sweet tender lips kissing you.
A woman with high regards of love only for you.

Be that man she loves dearly.
Be that man she protects like you do her fearlessly.

Just look her in the eyes and speak.
Off to the loo with the morning paper , the news of the day , his morning constitution . These silly , weak people , like spoiled little children , why pollute good hot coffee with cream and sugar ? Day is for sweat , labor and toil , not to malinger and forebode like a slothful buffoon ! Carve hard rock like master sculptor , punch the clock like a Union steel worker !
  Cut Maple with axe like a tireless lumberjack , plow thirty acres with a mule like Daddy did ! Shovel coal like the Kentucky coal miner , labor at sea like Georgia shrimper ! Lights out at eight o'clock , wake up at five ! Red hots , biscuit , jam and black coffee . Fresh , full , stoked and alive !
Copyright October 3 , 2015 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Oct 2015 Emma Hill
Sia Jane
(1)

I'm disturbed and yet deeply
comforted by my disturbed nature
I'm comforted because my darkness
envelops me-
it may be cold to the touch
rigid and upright
not soft and loving
but it's loyal
it never leaves.

Today, I'm driving
window down to help me breathe
I capture cold air in my wind pipe
I smell November winter air
smoke from chimneys rising-
when I breathe out I'm smoking too
warm air penetrating cold air
I smell November winter air
we're still in October
it's too early for these memories
I'm unprepared- it's too early.

Sat next to me she appears-
a paler, younger, thinner self
a self I'm sure has passed on
to another life
if it haunted me we'd call her a ghost
but she comforts me
shall we call her an imaginary friend?

"You look terrible!" I state wilfully.

(2)

She's dressed in a thousand layers
"You still feel the cold, eh!" I say
She winks, staying aloof
from any possible conversation
I take a tone of similar indifference.

There she is barely visible
so unafraid of death
arms striped with incisions
a razor blade left behind
hip bones, collar bones, chest bones
she's nothing more
than a white sheath coat
pulled over the skeleton of
a human body
skin screaming for nourishment
to show any signs of life.

If I asked to feel her pulse
there'd be nothing there
no beat
no rhythm
"Maybe it's why the fear of death
has left me!" she commands
"Because in your muffled confusion
your muscles wasting
including your brain-
you mistake yourself for dead." I retort
"You're 21 for Christ's Sake!"

(3)

Distracted by a red traffic light
I turn away-
when I look back, she's gone.

So here I am
talking to myself
the ghost of Christmas past
disappears as soon as my back
is turned.

When I'm alone
the silence
is always louder
than any noise I ever hear-
the silence attracts her back
I reach out to her
trace her face with my finger tips
I whisper: "God Bless,"
knowing some memories are meant
to be laid
to rest.


© Sia Jane


Read on SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/sia-jane-words/winter-air
Deep inside of you
There glows a fire, warm and bright
My eyes reflect it
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