#physicality
A tremor among flutters of the hand:
Excess vibration – it’s certain to involve a deeper rhythm –
Certain self images sent bent;
Light striking irregular glass.
Eyes contract, weight shifts, a
Break in conversation.
Caught in a moments maze
All obstacles avoided reconstruct,
All exits rearrange.
There are other signs:
Brood and singularity, thoughts
Perpendicular to sense,
Doubt challenging belief.
Perhaps another shuffling of the deck,
A steady murmur, a muttering,
A constant twang or certain slur of contradiction.
Mind insufficient, though desperate to respond:
“No more! No urge!”
No self-recrimination to excuse the selfish stupor….
But there is silence in good scotch –
As when reverberations peak,
Then separate the sound from voice
And thought from all compassion.
Oct 26, 2014
Oct 26, 2014 at 4:19 AM UTC
Black widow crawling up black vines,
expedition to your collarbones.
Crown of thorns pressed
against barbed wire
but neither of us bleeds.
Widows web resting
inbetween the lilies
adorning your hips.
If you glance southward,
a stabbed jester is crying,
bleeding out onto the meadow
surrounded by red wildflowers,
while the sun is shining bright
and the birds vanish into the clouds.
He's been like that for a while, I
doubt he'll ever stop. Or die.
"But don't worry!" he says,
"It's okay, it didn't hurt".
Black widow crawling up white flesh,
along the moths and butterflies,
across the imps and critters
landing just below the
tribal sigils planted
atop the hill.
Black widow is
squirming and writhing,
the two of you dancing in
splendid synchronicity. Flamenco,
with that reddened, swollen shell of yours
which I so deeply revere for its elegance.
In this tender moment,
the stars are immortal and
the moon faintly shrouds
the city in bone-white rays
of tragic incandescence.
Black widow retreats to its web and
the moths and butterflies have
gone to sleep now.
Rest easy, sweet
Hedone
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 4:36 PM UTC
Focused but with ease I sit
in a spring-cushioned
armchair coated in
soft leather, dyed
a rich bordeaux.
Cigarette in one hand,
Negroni in the other,
Joint prêt sur la table.
The Ouroboros woman lay
across from me on the
méridienne.
Our eyes not breaking sight,
we're opposite anchors.
Pegs pulling
piano wire.
As the smooth tapestry
of her milky skin is caressed
by one wondrous instrument affixed
upon her slender forearm,
with extensions most
sensual, the other
one implores
herself in
glorious
fervour.
Joie de vivre,
as close as you
can get, at least.
A tenebrous passion.
As thunderous as brief.
Adieux mon cœur,
ma jolie,
Élise.
Jul 27, 2025
Jul 27, 2025 at 9:58 AM UTC
Like wings on the thumb;
If you pay attention, they flutter in your chest
Like waves on the lips;
Tumultuous, pummeling, magnetizing,
Still.
And then words, not a covenant, but a confirmation
of intentions
Like the nuzzle of a rabbit, push
1 2 3
And part for breath to move through
Jan 20, 2019
Jan 20, 2019 at 9:26 PM UTC
Skin,
Our protection.
A guardian we take for granted.
I was taught in
Science class how
The skin is our
Barrier and protects us
From countless enemies.
A shield that is responsible
For keeping us healthy and safe.
But yet we abuse it,
We show it no gratitude.
When I was a kid
I allowed myself
To go roller skating without my
Knee pads,
Despite the infinite reprimands
My mother provided.
A scraped knee
Wasn’t anything a Band-Aid
And some time
Couldn’t fix.
I thought the band-aids in
The bathroom cupboard
Held some type of magic in the box
That I could not fathom
That patched up my skin
As if nothing ever happened.
But then I was taught in science class that
It was my skin performing
These magic tricks.
I remember those scolding hot
Summer days
Spent on the beach with my friends
Where the waves absorbed
Any sunscreen I had massaged on my body
And my face turned
Crimson from soaking in the rays.
But the burn always tempered
Down into a glowing tan
After the aloe soothed
The stinging.
In science class
I constantly overlooked
How our own flesh
Performed these illusions
To shield us from harms.
In science class
I studied how our skin
Interacted with the outside world.
How sensations were
Directed to the tips of my fingers
And goose bumps rose on
My arms.
But I was never taught
How to experience them.
I never questioned it though;
Unitl I met him.
Everything I was taught
Got lost,
As I had in his presence.
The way he gazed at me,
The way he talked to me,
The way he stroked my skin.
It gave me all those sensations
They had talked about in science class.
Everything happened so fast,
Everything happened too fast.
Intoxicated hands held me too close
And my intoxicated heart let them.
I forgot what science class burned
Into my brain and
I gave him my skin.
I let him become my armor.
I let him corrupt my flesh
Just as I had so many times before.
His finger nails
And teeth
Sunk deep into me
Leaving patters of desire in each layer
That soon soaked into my veins.
Our rib cages pressed together,
Both our hearts rattling
Within our chests,
Stimulating our brains to send signals
Allowing serotonin and oxytocin
To spill out,
Premising his lips to outline my body.
No science class ever
Taught me how to react
To my blood pressure rising,
To my sweat glands heating up.
No science class ever taught me
Why I wanted more,
Why the marks he left on my skin
Didn’t ache like a
Sunburn or scraped knee.
I trusted him,
With his hands full
Of my skin,
And the way that he
Made me feel;
I felt safe.
No science class taught me
That I could feel so
Alive,
And I loved it.
But when he was done with me,
My skin felt wrinkled
And used.
When he gave it back,
It was no longer mine,
He took it with him.
My skin cells lingered
Next to his nail beds
As he dressed himself.
No science class taught me
Why I felt so desolate
As he walked out the door,
With simple goodbyes,
That did not need to be spoken,
And no amenity in his eyes.
No science class taught me
The feeling of numbness found
As my heart rate decomposed
In my hallow chest,
Knowing I let him take my
Shield and watched him destroy it
Right in front of me.
No science class taught me
The bite marks and scratches he left
Would always be sore
Even after they have healed.
No Band-Aid or magic trick
Could fix the damage
He left for me to patch up
By myself.
No science class taught me
I would feel
The sensations of
Love and loss
Aching through my bones.
No amount of horomones
Could change his mind,
Or tug on his heart strings.
So why I thought I was
Invincible when I was with him,
I can’t understand.
But it is my fault
For not memorizing my
Notes from science class and
Sticking to the known facts
Of my own anatomy.
But I do know
After years and years of
Being lectured in school,
No science class could teach me
What my own damaged skin could.
Love and science will never coincide
And love cannot be found
In the physicality of
A one night stand.
Jun 16, 2018
Jun 16, 2018 at 11:38 PM UTC
blankets laid
like pastry
twirled and
crinkled
made to nestle
precious
heads
in bed of
curled and
covered comfort
buttered
wrapped up
little packages
alive and
breathing
heaving breaths
of depths
unknown to
waking worlds
through softened
lungs and throats
and mouths
and gooey
molten middles
with shield of
fragile sleep
held up
to barricade in
and barricade out
as steam floats
gentle warm
and wistful
blissful up
from tender
scalps
from dreams
in gold and
chocolate
© 2017 Adelaide Heathfield
Feb 19, 2018
Feb 19, 2018 at 9:11 AM UTC
Should I be affectionate,
Or something exceedingly delicate?
Rich in love to the peak where it sickens
Yet exploring to where the darkness deepens
Seemingly beautiful with a lustful pride
My substantial desire for you will grow in size.
Not for petty songs or pure white roses
My hand points to where the problem poses-
a threat to your silky, blushed thighs
Will you expose your most precious prize?
I shall not wait 'til my hair fades silver
Nor to when the sweet fruit becomes bitter
O, now let us rest on fine cotton sheets!
For our passion is boiling and I do beseech
Do not let thy chastity be devoured by worms
Or my sprouting heart will firm
Lady, let us be feral birds!
Pecking away at our fleshy love
Is thou haunted by my sweet pea curse?
Heaven shall judge this yearning verse.
Jun 16, 2017
Jun 16, 2017 at 7:43 AM UTC
We see eachother
Through our screens
And we see nothing at all.
All of us,
Our pixels staged
Like empty vendor stalls.
Substituting eye contact with
Fingertips on
Static.
Everything emotional
Is frozen,
Mathematic.
I am longing inside out
For
Savage,
Revealing
Touch
Warmed not by
Electricity,
But by a
Carnal
Flush.
Sep 30, 2014
Sep 30, 2014 at 2:42 AM UTC
tiny wrists made up of clothespins
sharp hips made up of awkward wingspans
held my smile like a knife made up of coffee stained teeth
walked me home like a dance with the broken sidewalk
kissed my scared hands with a scarred mouth
Jul 10, 2014
Jul 10, 2014 at 11:33 PM UTC