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  Jan 2015 Ren
The Dirty Vanilla
When I was in the darkest place
she showed up with a flashlight

And when I was so, so cold
she built a small fire

I know
if I were dangling from a tiny branch
poking out of a tall cliff
she would be there with rope
setting up nets underneath
I know this
because she did

Some days I am terribly sure
that not a soul gets me
There she is, though
with pom poms
(one that says *****,
the other vanilla)
cheering

The world
just doesn’t  know what compassion is
She defines it

And I love her
I owe her
And I got rope, a flashlight and some matches
so that one day
I can return the favor

And girl,
no number of wrinkles
could make you less beautiful
Ren Jan 2015
I’m not
Addicted
To your addictions
(I think to myself with the smell of cigarette smoke and *** lingering in the air)
Two days later
My thighs still ache to the touch
Somehow, it always hurts after we
****.
And you
Smeared into my sheets
And you
Blue between my thighs
Not from your banging
But from my heavy slamming
And that’s when I think
“I’m not addicted to his addictions”
(as I press rewind)
“I don’t smoke”
Ren Jan 2015
I have spun a dream
And wove it in my soul
Like the sun and moon in love
But destined not to touch

It’s colored deep in hues

Of truth

And love

And trust

It’s present on my tongue and lips
Just waiting to be touched

It sings my heart
It sings my hand
inhales the earth and sky

there’s passion in its whisper
and desire in its eye

Someday I’ll hear existence sing
my lips will be a home
One day when wind is perfect
And blows in life a poem
Ren Jan 2015
Winter was our season
With lavender in bloom
We gardened so well in darkness
And my love still transfixed
At the thought of your lips
tracing my name with your tongue

And when we loved

God

when we loved

how my mouth loved to echo your shape
I would gather your darkness with the cup of my hands
And drink from your smell and your taste

Burnt in my mouth is red wine and honey
I savor your pleasant and smooth
And still through the night
It’s your voice from behind
That warms my lavender mood
Ren Jan 2015
All these lemons appear in my life
yellow is always so pleasing to the eye
like sunshine
How many can I juggle before I slip and die
Bitter to the taste
Rinds are a waste
I'll squeeze them all
throw the juice in your face
I hate lemonade
Ren Dec 2014
It was a Tuesday
I tripped in full stride
I blame the house which was fragrant with a stale caffeinated aroma
It seemed rational at the time going for a walk with bare feet on hot coals
I’ve done more
or less
For some perverse introspective frivolousness

I took the road less traveled
which looking back was more like a rutted, run-down  underground expressway
I kicked at beer cans
Tripped on broken guitar strings
Blotted melancholy on crumpled  cocktail napkins where now meaningless prose once had meaning
the ******* led my way
scattered carelessly
discarded thoughtlessly
left to clean up the mess

I walked past doors left open absentmindedly
deliberately pushing them closed
Passed windows broken where shards of glass still held a dim shine
Letting  my bloodied fingertips trace a path along the wall as I loitered

A few times I sat
mulling over the graffiti left behind
everyone leaves their mark
picking at loose paint with my fingernail at what I once thought important
now not even a decent curiosity
just reminders of wannabe artists whose color faded when they explored the same terrain

I walked farther deeper
into the all too Familiar  
down an almost unrecognizable hallway I never dared to venture
one I didn't even know existed
That’s when my fingertips ran into
red
velvet
wet
where my feet settled in fresh paint

Sinking into the red I felt a slow
steady drip from above splash on my lips
flushed with a burning need to suckle at the source

Drip

Drip

Drip

I smiled and thought

*Finally...  
an artist with some ******* talent!
Ren Dec 2014
Weeks of silence
(my ears they bled)
Resurrected today
(back from the dead)

Inhaling each and every verse
Possessed by some enchanted curse
He draws, and lures, and pulls me in
I'm absolutely lost in him
The way his words they capture me
Lace through limbs
Enrapture me
Bleeding out his polished prose
For whom he writes, I'll never know
He speaks of shadows and black silhouettes
My bleeding heart is not dead yet
I close my eyes and grind my hips
His words they drip down off my lips
Cascading to my blushing *******
I pull them close and there they rest
Embracing every syllable
Tormented that I let him go
At least today he shared with me
A little piece of him to see

I never got the chance to say
Before I burned a bridge that day
Thank you for that seed you grew
And all the love for me you drew
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