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it's all about ***
really
it's always about ***
no matter what else is between us
no matter what our hearts are telling us
what always brings me back
in the end
is the ***
we wrap it up in layers
of beautiful poetry
romantic ideals
but the heart is fickle
and fluid
it waxes and wanes and
wanders and wonders
while the body is constant
consistent
and so simple
the flesh Wants
nothing more
and so in the end
that is all that matters
that I see you every day
every night
can't escape it
even if I really wanted to
maybe it's the curve
of a hip
suddenly exposed
when your pants slip a little too low
maybe it's the sway
of a heavy breast
unconstrained
beneath your loose top
maybe it's the conspicuous
delicious
surreptitious sighting
of a hard ******
or two
pressing through
your too-thin tee-shirt
maybe it's all your cute
underwear
hanging up to dry
maybe I glimpse you
getting out of the shower
or catch sight of you
getting changed
or you're sleeping ****
above the covers
in the warm still night
I try to avoid it
I try not to see
but you're all around me
I try not to notice
or let myself care
but I can feel your heat
next to me
in our bed
and I want so badly
to warm myself in you
to bathe in you
to luxuriate in you
lingering everywhere
your every curve pulls at me
your body's gravity
drawing me in
ignoring my will
tying me around your waist
to dangle and sway
against your flesh
forever
yours
all ways
 Apr 2013 Sarina
Antelope
sky-ku
 Apr 2013 Sarina
Antelope
clouds gather kissing
crying to the earth below
my head feels so loved
Sitting on the front porch, the light wind is tickling my hair
I see you with the kids and think of us,  and where we have been
The life were trying to get right
We would walk the streets hand in hand
Picking daises to put in my hair
Long conversations over dinner and wine
Such a mystery you were
Years later you became defeated
That day that was tragic and real
I know that the voices admired you most
We could not escape
With medications that made you high
While others made you sleep all day
Watching your decline was so hard to see
When you painted the children's rooms
With blood that day
It was such a delightful day
We gathered in the yard
I watched the kids play
So innocent and sweet
Playing, having ***** feet
Climbing trees and chasing one another  
I relive those moments in my head

I have lost all I had
The sun has died
The clouds are not in the sky
I ran to the store the kids needed milk
How they drank it to grow
Big and strong just like dad
You seemed better to me
Home from the hospital
The doctor promises your medications are right
I'm tired and drained
I leave the kids at your side
Who would have thought that day would be


Searching the house looking for them
I see a blood filled shoe
Tiny hand prints and torn skin
I ***** all that I have  
My body seems to shut down
I fall to the ground feeble with pain
An unimaginable disgusted and hopeless feeling
I sob and scream
Please God, this has to be a bad dream
I run to the phone, I know its to late
My little tiny angels that I need
I weep everyday since they been gone
Why couldn't I be the one

I suffer everyday and think of them so
He sits in a hospital but I refuse to go
Voices are so strong , perhaps he didn't know he was wrong
My life is done I'm not complete
I shall go to sleep
With a bottle of ***** and his medications
I go falling slowly then quickly I descend
I see three beautiful faces my babies once again
I would like to say that it is so sad that more and more children are killed by there parents. I tried to put myself there. This writing is just to have empathy for the family of these children. I don't have empathy if they themselves killed them. This is a terrible awful thing. I also don't believe in taking your own life. Wanted to make sure I didn't offend anyone. Peace and love
three days in row now
I've seen flowers in the trash
outside of her office
not old flowers
not dead flowers
not cleaning-out-my-valentine's-day-vase flowers
new flowers
blossoming flowers
roses and carnations
all vibrant reds and soft creams and ****** pinks
three days in a row now
each day a new bouquet
blooming from her wastebasket
on the floor outside her office door
adding floral notes to the remains
of her discarded lunch
making her garbage look like
it's gotten dressed up
to go on a date
at the dump
looking like a first-year art student's
commentary on still-life
or on the notion of "romance"
And I wonder
who hurt her
and how
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