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#coaxing
If you could have it all, everything your heart desires would you try? Just a sip, they said, your dreams will come to life. What happens when the drink runs dry? Your aspirations shrivel, you confidence wilts. So, will you take a sip?
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Nov 6, 2024
Nov 6, 2024 at 2:27 PM UTC
Drink
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing, as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness surrenders very reluctantly, full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use, keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat - a big difference through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm, my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence and other such mental knottings my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape, coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot, which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary but atheist-acceptable to her morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the physical and physics theorems funny how some prayers, where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine, uttered without any contemplation are yet deep comforting for their inherency, so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body, well hid neath a summer coverlet, wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission I comfort her, above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet, till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot, my praying reaches the end of its rope, where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution no longer needed, but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping, not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice my comfort is her extra comforter, an offering of coffee my reward, for my daily work has begun, and I have many more poems stillborn that require coaxing stroking to become witnesses to living
0
Jun 17, 2019
Jun 17, 2019 at 7:32 PM UTC
I comfort her ****** a coaxing
we lay together, 6:00am, body warmth touch-sharing, as the June morning summer chill coming off its night nadir coolness surrenders very reluctantly, full length pajamas, blankets and coverlets in use, keeping cold out while bodies touching generate heat - a big difference through these layers of cotton controversy, my right arm, my cunning, falls awkwardly upon her, advising I am woken and aware she is as well, hear her earbuds emplaced, make shushed whispering noises re the future of artificial intelligence and other such mental knottings my awkward angled arm rests on her landscaped outline of shape, coming to rest where legs meet at the top of an upside down V spot, which makes no request, but accepts my bequest of steady stroking of her ****** as an unnecessary but atheist-acceptable to her morning prayer ritual, kept at the intersection of the physical and physics theorems funny how some prayers, where recitation comes thoughtlessly and routine, uttered without any contemplation are yet deep comforting for their inherency, so I pray a stroking repetitive on her body, well hid neath a summer coverlet, wordlessly chanted, wordlessly accepted, silence connoting approving permission I comfort her, above and through a floral coverlet for her floral coverlet, till the sun rises enough to truly warm up our plot, my praying reaches the end of its rope, where quality and quantity achieve unanimity resolution no longer needed, but am appreciated, besides my arm is cramping, not designed for the rising, unleveled angle of her breathing bodice my comfort is her extra comforter, an offering of coffee my reward, for my daily work has begun, and I have many more poems stillborn that require coaxing stroking to become witnesses to living
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