not yet
waiting for night
and a family gathering

My heart is ticking like a bomb,
Beaten like a dusty rug,
Still ticking like a bomb.
Unbroken, unwavering
But ticking like a bomb
Not unbruised
Not yet fatally wounded
Still  ticking like a bomb
My heart is....
Strong but not hard.
And ticking like a bomb
Safe in its own discontent.
My heart is...ticking like a bomb.

Moss, on the forest floor
cushions my shoulders
amidst of towering pillars
I breathe in the woodland's breath
a cool breeze, that scents the palette
so refreshingly clear.
Let it rain and melt the ****** snow
that adornes the cutlery of this green kitchen.
Something pleasantly stirs.

Pleasure erupts,
from the contact your hand makes upon my skin.

Goosebumps arise,
from the gentle nip of your teeth
against my neck.

Consoling me,
of the aching that is to come.
Acceptance dawns,
apparent in the gleam in my eyes.

Anticipation,
like slow, drawled out suffering.
I quiver,
with the waves of longing that engulf me.

Sends me to another dimension;
Lost somewhere,
between the sheets and the shadows,
that light dares not touch.

Again and again it strikes.
You always win.
And carelessly,
I want more.
I will always want more.

This morning I caught the blues.
I stood on the edge of the spoon with nowhere to go.
I tied my shoes and searched for my muse.
There she sat, distance postponing an ooze of stew.
With the end of the ladle short.
The end of the table so far. I sat.
I felt like a schmuck,
sitting on the edge of the spoon.
This hunger pang unfair.
Following me ladle to the tip.
A table clothed in decoration.
I envied the way it loathed.
Laying flat with no idea of what was going on.
It would never know the hunger that ached mid-spoon.
The ingredients that drove this passion.
The smell, the feel of steam that rose from the middle of the bowl.
The meat, the vegetables.
The brew of broth I longed to taste.
This space mid-spoon.
My heart raced in mourning
Standing on the edge of the spoon

I have travelled from the lands
Of an unknown master that used to be you.
To a distant destiny, a residue
Of silent tears I shed past midnight
For the absence of you.
My throat clogged with screams.
My lips apart for expected moans
And eyes tight shut!
Crying over the absence of you.
The Absence of you
In a world so empty of light
And full of must-dos
Spinning in my head
Lies an imperfect dream
Of holding your hand
In the morning dew.
Tina RSH ©
14.04. 17