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comfort touch lost among the hurt
sleep sad silence
warm holding hand left frozen earth
spoken softness breath out
sleep sad silence
stroked curls wind loosened winter
stretched across body abyss
sleep sad silence
taste empty belly strangled heart
a different love you keep
James Christine Dec 2020
Of mites and of moss.
Of glorious green-hued lullaby
Soft flesh envelope and spirit dreams tingle
James Christine Dec 2020
1st
A moment, an ethereal softness that, within it,
consumed is the whole being.

It was nature and nerves set to flame.
A gentle lust and lightness that built speed
and heft deep in the pit of me.
I felt how it made your cheeks burn, then your eyes averted mine.
Your gut-reaction in word form. "****."
Grace not by the usual terms
but through the breathy intonation,
to be felt rather than heard.
Raw. And unfiltered gut-stuff.  
Freshly churned in the deep pit of you.
And urged up pressing against your teeth
til the last defenses breached.
And through swollen lips parted.
The very place of origin.

Where it began a-flutter, and,
once realized,
with nauseating visceral coercion.

Bodies to become stardust
afloat the wintry night cool.
Washing over the lake as we stood afront it all.
Bodies to become heat.
A reduction of bone, muscle, flesh.
Liquid- like-swimming bodies.
But everything swimming.
Mind and spirit too-
swimming floaty- like.
Swimming in the liquid night-pool of star matter.
James Christine Jun 2017
******.
As in,
Struck-
Touched so deeply
I almost bleed
But the red-hot liquid
pouring out of me
Is not red.
James Christine May 2017
MY INSIDES ARE BURNING WITH DESIRE
NOT WITH PHYSICAL DESIRE, BUT WITH THE DESIRE TO
PRESS MY SOUL AGAINST YOURS.
TO SHARE IN OUR SOULS AS
PEOPLE SHARE IN A MEAL.
FROM A PLACE SO DEEP WITHIN ME,
DEEPER AND MORE LIQUID THAN THE
CORE OF THIS VERY EARTH
HOLDING UP MY BONES. SO THEY CAN
BREAK CRUMBLE
                                   DISINTEGRATE
INTO YOU.
MY BONES I THINK THEY ARE MEANT TO
BREATHE LIFE INTO YOUR EYES.
James Christine Nov 2016
bearing our souls
barefooted, our soles.
bearing the weight
of only our bare
naked souls.
James Christine Nov 2016
the days bleed
as I do with the moon
cut into shapes
unrecognizable
I hold them in my hand with a furrowed brow.

the leaves are falling in slow motion.
the leaves are f a l l i n g  i n  s l o w  m o t i o n

T. Robbins tells of autumn, it breeds the birth of death
so the smell of the birth of death lingers
on the ground, under our bare feet.

when winter passes
the leaves will float back up to the trees
and then death is dying.

the leaves become alive with green
the sun warms winter bones

so the smell of life spreads from the trees to the ground
where I stand dying
in slow motion.
we are all d y i n g  i n  s l o w  m o t i o n
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