He was stronger than wax attached to dry skin
tearing into your senses with a cascade
of sweetness
just to expose the inner layers of guilt.
Fingertips traveled up my hunched back:
bent into submission by a weight
of ecstasy.
Soft hands like unsure gestures --
time to straighten up.
Whisper to me in the night an idea
like blush to my cheeks
with the ooze of forgotten lullabies
and brighter mornings
like the residue of sleepless-nights
and sticky pillow tears:
surrounded by his simple childish love
I find my softest bones.
Easily corrupted by the twisting of unmade beds,
striving to give the perception
of clean innocence.
I could only shudder in the screeching wind
like a little Flower
in the arms of the strongest Storm;
nails ripping down my brain stem,
winds blowing away all my petals
heavens pity money raining in coins
tainted with human sins;
it’s all rushing down
my pulsing roots--
So pluck my mane of tasteless purity,
with hands coated in goose bumps
and soft beats
of warm
breathing.
“How can a flower love the hand
that took it from its earth?”
I ask.
but my lips are sealed in a kiss.
Nov 8, 2012
Nov 8, 2012 at 10:08 AM UTC
He was stronger than wax attached to dry skin
tearing into your senses with a cascade
of sweetness
just to expose the inner layers of guilt.
Fingertips traveled up my hunched back:
bent into submission by a weight
of ecstasy.
Soft hands like unsure gestures --
time to straighten up.
Whisper to me in the night an idea
like blush to my cheeks
with the ooze of forgotten lullabies
and brighter mornings
like the residue of sleepless-nights
and sticky pillow tears:
surrounded by his simple childish love
I find my softest bones.
Easily corrupted by the twisting of unmade beds,
striving to give the perception
of clean innocence.
I could only shudder in the screeching wind
like a little Flower
in the arms of the strongest Storm;
nails ripping down my brain stem,
winds blowing away all my petals
heavens pity money raining in coins
tainted with human sins;
it’s all rushing down
my pulsing roots--
So pluck my mane of tasteless purity,
with hands coated in goose bumps
and soft beats
of warm
breathing.
“How can a flower love the hand
that took it from its earth?”
I ask.
but my lips are sealed in a kiss.
