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Feb 2012 · 627
the making of memory
Terricka Tyndell Feb 2012
He fondled the lines on my palm with tips of his fingers

Convinced the heavier with a gentle urge to seek out moonlight

Suggested to the thinner to inch upward as if it had lost its way

Pressing lips softly against skin unhinging secrets onto landscapes

that scream tears, whispering with gazing fingers, secrets unspoken.

Holding there the traces of his lips caught beneath a scar on my shoulder.

He steadies, pushing breath against body.  Somehow, somewhere lost inside

And searches for me where he loves to hide.

Burning prints on skin as the rhythm of his words fill me.

The rough and the swollen seeking light and answers with skin.

A thumbnails half moon moves across my thigh quietly to his sense of Grace

and he is back inside waiting in the black that surround him warm and wet,

sweetly anchored as he softly strains for light—until…

a stretch of skin,

a pull of flesh

is known-

and bellies tremble beneath curious shapes into confused laughter and breath

His eyes are mine as I collapse and he finds he’s way inside…again
Feb 2012 · 526
what yes feels like
Terricka Tyndell Feb 2012
Love me until I am sore

Until I am no more

Hold the daylight in your palm and drag it up my thigh

Not so gentle

Pull my hair

take me

taste me  

touch me

tame me

anchor my skin with your sin

feel me from within

kiss stars from my eyes and blow petals from my lips

Love me hard until I bleed

in 28 days

or so…

— The End —