"resided" poems
We made love under a tree
crazy me and obsessed thee
Ah! holding each other so tight
at the peeking pale twilight.
Caressing you from the nose,
sliding way down to your toes;
I made the chills run down your skin
kissing your cute trembling chin.
Locking your soft lips with mine
I used my tongue to give you a sign.
Closing the eyes, you went with the flow
You ripped my pant off and dragged it low
Excited by your aggressive touch,
I slowly removed your clothes.
And when I undid your red bra
you drew me closer and moaned ‘aahh’
You smelled sweet like the fresh smiling flowers
And you were all mine for quite a few hours
Your rapid hot breathe lured me more and more
I bit your ******* took our emotions to the core.
Delicately I went down and licked your ****
that seemed to have aroused you a bit.
Then you scratched my back with your nail
I was happy to see my moves leaving a trail.
Thus, it was time to go for the ultimate bliss
So I pulled you closer and gave a passionate kiss
Gently I resided my hardness in you to quench our lust
Up and down I moved but tenderly at first
With each swift push, you moaned loud
by seeing your amazing charm, I was wowed.
Time passed as we kept letting ourselves free
And this is how we made love under a tree.
Dec 1, 2014
Dec 1, 2014 at 8:54 AM UTC
Situations find themselves unraveling uncontrollably,
picking at scabs of superiority,
delving into wide expanded pits of insecurity.
The master of masking change
would be the ever drifting reputation,
it leaves bitter, it brings hate.
May I express how much I hate?
Nothing squirms and squiggles uncontrollably
more, than watching reputations
crumble, due to fake superiority.
What do I want, change!
What does she want? Change, but she gets insecurity.
To understand the confliction, insecurity
must paint walls of peeling purple hate.
Well, something in you will change.
You may remain stubborn, uncontrollably
defending your sudden superiority,
you’re just choosing a rotten reputation.
I wish to fly you to a new nation, I mean shes breaking your reputation.
I’d like to find the spot in your mind resided by insecurity,
I know you’re not studded with superiority.
She’s finding a reason for everyone else to hate
the way you attract uncontrollably.
Nothing about you, in you, should change,
because this digs deeper than the change
her and my relationship took, than are used to be reputation
of adoring each other uncontrollably.
of ignoring that insecurity.
of the day she learned to hate,
spindling a slippery net of superiority.
Her comfort zone of a home lays in superiority,
I’d rather cry endlessly than change
by cultivating my hate
for her, for her debilitating take on your reputation.
Transperency touches insecurity
and you are broken, falling uncontrollably.
I will continue to hate her superiority, but that won’t reflect on her reputation.
You mustn’t change your disposition, but lose the grip on insecurity
Don’t you dare hate these words, they care, they love uncontrollably.
Jun 21, 2012
Jun 21, 2012 at 10:45 PM UTC
On the eve I die alone
Don't morn me
simply delete me from your phone
Remove my contact info erase all pics and tweets
Don't simply RIP me
Or shout me out on FaceBook statuses
When I'm gone ignore me
Go back to your regularly scheduled programming
Let me slide into oblivion
Where I resided in life let me rest in death
If it mattered that much surely I would have known
I would have sensed the emotional necessity that I placed in hearts
That I etched in minds and lives
So let me slip to slumber
Cast out blindly on the pyre
With backs turned don't mind the blaze
Embrace your loved ones and hold them tight
Remind them that to love and lose is to lose at best
And to be stolen from and assailed at worst
But still warn them of this plight
And when I lay down that eve
Don't wish this soul goodnight.
May 22, 2015
May 22, 2015 at 5:39 PM UTC
You, with your supple and brown leather
I, with my gaze fixed on my father’s pocket
You, peeking out from its corner like a
Child playing hide and seek in a desolate ally
I, like the kidnapper, keeping an eye on your
Fragile movements, waiting for you to stumble
Into a dark corner and into my sinister embrace
So that I could get my ransom inside you, the
Little green strips of paper you contained
Toys, chocolates and kites my father wouldn’t get me.
You, with your expensive sheen, attracting me
To yourself like a gold ring attracting an eagle
Only to disappear as soon as my father left
For work and you, containing an enigmatic exchange
For little candies the definition of bliss to six year old me.
I, with my naïve mind thinking why I would get less
Candies and goodies when you would be frail
And devoid of those thin green leaves.
You, in the possession of my elder brother now
I, eight year old me, wondering if your gauntness
Made my father a dear departed.
You, I didn’t unravel the enigma of your long
Green leaves until I was thirteen and you
Resided in the back pocket of the Khaki trousers
My brother used to wear,
Now Tattered just like your old unkempt skin.
Dear Old Wallet, my dead father’s wallet
I liked you better when you were fat and fit,
Supple and shiny, brimming with coins and green leaves.
And when I was unaware, little and innocent thinking
You were a miracle for I only wanted toys back then
only to realize I need a lot more
For I am now cold, fatherless and bankrupt
But you are empty and thin, just like my
Dying mother.
Jan 24, 2015
Jan 24, 2015 at 2:58 AM UTC
Even with a thousand heads and souls around me,
The thought of loneliness always resided with me
I did not intend to fit in everyone's sizes,
Nor was I proud of the bottle that shook with rage, ready to spill
My life disintegrates within a flash of a solution
I present myself and my energy to a dull audience
But the same smiles just stare speechless, gawking at me
I paraded willfully, expressing myself through art that was repulsive to many
Yet, there were a few eyes that presented a beacon, despite my addictions crumbling the floor beneath me
I reached out and touched the flames that singed my hair
Till I landed on flowers
They were not the gorgeous type,
But they were just like me:
Odd, beautiful, deterring, and tiresome.
One of them shared a joke about death,
It forced a laugh out of me, till I realized today was April Fools' Day
A skull-shaped bud cries in front of me, similar to that of a child
I take in the smell of the hole I've fallen in, though the fall was cushioned by giant red flowers
As pretty as they are, their smell is who I am
I look above and see a crucifix in the sky
Then the darkness falls in, and I accept the undeniable truth by closing my eyes.
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 3:53 AM UTC
Murva fashion collection introduced at Eco Fashion Week has been a life long process for Ivana Knezovic, Creative Director / Designer. This was not only the 29 year old Croatian designer's first collection, but also her first international performance.
She debuted her eco-friendly collection titled Rust & Flow on the runway at Eco Fashion Week in Vancouver, Canada. Her pieces are all made from eco-friendly wool flannel.
Ivana Knezovic made interesting use of symmetrical lines, and I admired the draping from the shoulders framing a dress low-cut in back. One dress had several parallel vertical cut lines on the backside.
Many of her tops had capes, hang from one shoulder or both, paired with slim pants or a skirt. A nice touch of dramatic flare as the models moved down the runaway.
“Fashion design was always in me,” say Ivana Knezovic. Having resided in New York, Toronto, and Switzerland, designing was something she always wanted to do. "Murva is the name of a tree in my village. My company represents a return to my roots, to who I am at my core."
"I like structure. I like hiding the body behind some kind of a structure," said the designer who makes all her own clothes and cosmetics. "Eco is a product of maturity and of wholeness that you can only achieve when you really and truly grow up."
As a designer, she told me that she strives for “pure minimalism,” yet her eco-fashion designs are made for a sophisticated, minimalistic, and determined woman.
Exactly what the eco-fashion movement needs.Read more here:www.marieaustralia.com/bridesmaid-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/formal-dresses-2015
Apr 30, 2015
Apr 30, 2015 at 10:59 PM UTC
Once a girl lived in a tower.
She had the longest golden locks you had ever seen.
Her mother would visit and be hoisted upwards upon those locks to see her daughter.
The girl was named after a plant… Rapunzel.
How could she know this though when she had always lived in her home of the tower.
Her mother had kept her there since she could remember.
Rapunzel would ask when should could see the world.
Her mother would turn down these pleas saying the world was too dangerous for Rapunzel.
As she grew older Rapunzel realized that she resided in not a home but a prison.
Why was mother allowed to see the world and she was not?
Why could she not decide for herself the dangers of the world?
Freedom always framed within her window but too far below to reach.
On her 18th birthday Rapunzel fled the tower using the locks that had grown so very long.
Her mother soon after discovered her daughter to be missing. Full of spite she pursued her daughter.
Rapunzel’s hair kept her from going too far and soon her mother was upon her.
Rapunzel tried to flee, but her mother seeing her daughter free from the world she had made for her stepped upon the long locks.
She pulled her daughter back to her slowly, back to the safety of her arms, her world. Rapunzel struggled on the ground trying to escape. She took a rock and severed the locks from her head. She fell forward into the edge of the woods and onto thorns.
She was blinded. Her mother rushed to her side not concerned for the eyes that weeped red but for the destroyed beauty that was her daughter’s locks.
Rapunzel may have lost her sight in that moment but her mother had lost hers long before that. Unable to see how she had hurt her daughter. That the greatest pain her daughter had experienced was given by her. Her daughter was blind and could not see the world, but her mother had never seen her for what she was.
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 2:43 PM UTC
At twilight
I walk down the path through the woods
Carpeted in autumn's nocturnal harvest.
The guiding porch light,
Feebler than the fluttering fire flies, fades.
Smell of fresh decay seduces my will.
Desires that have forever resided in the unattainable future
Now like long parted friends sit around with welcoming smiles.
Curious to commingle with Contentment
I feel the Autumn seep into the woods,
And the woods into my heart.
Never before,
A weary traveller lost upon
The tortuous timber trail
Felt more at peace.
Wishing to curl up in the cold warmth of the golden fleece.
The woods will the wind to wrap him in wool of the willow
and tuck him amongst the exposed roots.
An unmarked clock ticks somewhere.
Here the eternal present prevails,
Concealed from the eye of the arrow ,
In the stretch of this malleable moment.
I, in the knowledge that my estranged self
Rests in me, am whole again.
At twilight.
Nov 6, 2015
Nov 6, 2015 at 5:59 AM UTC
In the cove where the forest and seas met.
Lies a hut abandoned, but twas never forget.
The vines and moss that crawls and slither—
and the rust of chimes and roses that wither.
Two alike creatures’ dwell within the crest—
and can be found, broken epitaphs lie at rest.
Wings with tail as their ebony feathers trail,
—beaks like gold, a bond that could prevail.
Fly up and below in anywhere they would go.
To unglass windows, scratches on tealish walls.
The hollows of trees that covered with snow,
melts away to crystal-dew as springtime grows.
Rain came pouring, filling the tires off the roof.
Two had a dream, only to raptured by enmity.
With webs that weave the age of their misery.
Both resided the ceiling for heaven once more.
With growls of the wind and cold swiftly blows.
It came strong as the hut is almost unknown.
Both hold on to believe, but one choose to leave.
thinking of nothing, but its own selfish greed.
As skies were cleared onto a rainbow sheer.
Lonesome, broken, one black dove weeping ill,
Breathe, a voice came to the lonely dove's ear.
"Come fly with me, I am God—don't be feared."
Nov 22, 2017
Nov 22, 2017 at 9:46 AM UTC
He crinkled the daily
paper and thought out
loud, "You're my
best friend."
She scuffed her
kitten heels, prodding
for more. Far inside she
told herself to take it lightly.
He knew she knew
that he knew it was
temporary. Acting as if
she made him happy.
She sunk deep in
the velvet green
couch. Cons and pros
of being the leaver or the left.
He stared past Valentine
cards and the spot on
the carpet, where they
laughed and spilled tomato soup.
Their faces drooped and became
that soup. Sodium and protein
soaking into the ground
every which-way.
She resided and sat
up out of their yard-sale
bought couch. She set her
mind on staying by his side.
He toppled over on
the yard tools he never
touched. Now next to his
side was the Earth's crust.
She was left in the air
and he laid in muck.
His voice played over in her
head, "You're my best friend."
May 10, 2012
May 10, 2012 at 2:32 AM UTC
The forever falling devil reaches for my heart,
his talons digging deep as I am forced to sleep
in his world, for evermore
in the land of pure darkness.
The rotten wings which once resided
on his back; glorious, white, bright;
now shards of glass that cut those
who come too close.
The fire in his heart is put out
by the flood in mine; killed by the
never-ending storm inside me. Flames put out
by water; those who thrived in the soul fire
quietened by the heartless liar
who turned hell into an ocean.
Jan 1, 2016
Jan 1, 2016 at 6:42 AM UTC
10 Things I Wish I Could've Told You...
but never did.
1: I used to fantasize about us listening to that song that always reminded me of you and we'd be laughing and singing and we wouldn't have a care in world except where we were gonna buy our french fries. I'd feel as free as the snowflakes that never fell while we coast down the boulevard.
2: I snuck out of class one time to text you. I thought I was super cool for doing something bad... but then I had to do the entire science experiment with my phone in my jacket sleeve. I came pretty close to lighting it on fire with a bunsen burner, actually.
3: I remember how you could make anything hilarious. Whether it was laughing about overrated jokes from the internet or ironic things we probably shouldn't even be laughing about, you'd turn the situation upside down because that's the way you liked to see the world. You taught me that just looking from another perspective could make the ocean and sky switch places.
4: I lost sleep of worrying about you - I would awake in a cold sweat worried that my biggest nightmare would come true.
5: I would always push accusations of this happening to the back of my mind, but little did I know that when I thought I was protecting you I was really protecting myself.
6: I miss your laugh
7: I miss your smile
8: I miss the way you cared about everyone. Your heart was so big that all the 7 billion people on this earth could have a piece of it, a chance to taste the love and sweetness that resided in there, and when all the sugar saturated in the bottom you always knew how to shake it back up again, but man did they take every last piece. They took it all so that you were left with an emptiness that you had to fill with something else. And you filled it up, but it wasn't with love.
9: I can't live in a world without you
10: You were the first and only person I turned to for a very long time, and you were the only person who I could really trust. You gave me a piece of your heart too, except that I cherished mine. And to this day, I wear your heart on my sleeve.
Apr 5, 2016
Apr 5, 2016 at 8:21 PM UTC
There was a thunderstorm last night.
Today it smells like sweet petrichor,
Coating my nose and holding everything
Very Still.
But last night.
There was a thunderstorm.
Thunder rolling like waves crashing and breaking on the shore.
Lightning cutting jagged lines in the air.
And so much rain that the puddles look like oceans.
And the world is sweet petrichor.
And through the thunderstorm,
I thought of you.
Your hand in mine.
Your warm, sweet hugs.
The soft kisses that part of me will always pretend never happened.
And part of me aches for again.
Through the thunderstorm,
My thought was of sharing the time with you.
There was a thunderstorm last night.
One that almost shook the ground I stood on.
And I was not afraid.
But my fingers felt quite lonely.
And my thoughts resided elsewhere.
And now the morning's breaking,
And the whole thing is kind of hazy.
And the world's made of sweet petrichor.
And my thoughts still lie on you.
May 29, 2018
May 29, 2018 at 1:51 PM UTC
The cemetery was my circus I found
After outgrowing fantasy and the playground.
Golden afternoons in the country after school,
My blood having no resemblance, no ancestors,
To all the Sutton's and Smotherman's and Suddeth's
Who here resided with Tennessee pride. Inside and outside.
The still silence of my childhood cemetery carried an eerie air. I wanted to be here.
The peaceful calm, it called me back,
The king cawing crow, attending in black.
As for any of the lost, perhaps content, Confederate souls,
Who have yet to cross over, lamenting or dozed.
I suspect now, that it was I who startled those ghosts.
My blood, my frequency, my scent of the coast,
Sent from a Union ancestry my vibration still boasts...
How unexpected was I to those Tennessee ghosts.
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 3:52 AM UTC
*The butterfly had to go through
a period of slumber
before it could awaken.*
There are holes in my heart
where some people once resided
and I’m trying to let myself free
release all that is me
breaking out of all they had done
basking beneath the embrace
of the sun.
Dec 29, 2014
Dec 29, 2014 at 11:57 PM UTC
A caveman discovering fire,
he can now stay warm in the cold and see light in the dark,
It feeds him and protects him, and he does likewise.
Electricity suddenly figured out,
the harnessing of lightening used to capture the suns impressive illumination,
Dark corners seen where shadows once resided.
Neil Armstrong's foot touching the surface of the moon,
as stars swirl around him,
and the Earth looks innocent, safe, and beautiful.
The first successful flight of an airplane,
finally feeling free like the birds,
and touching the once elusive clouds.
A heart surgeon looking at a sensitive beating *****
knowing that rhythmic pulsing is necessary to sustain the body,
and caution must be taken not to hurt it.
Like a free-falling with a parachute.
Like a delicious appetizer, entree, and dessert all at once.
Like puppy kisses, or kitten purrs.
Like looking down from the top of a mountain.
Like every single sunrise and sunset you've ever seen, combined.
Like tearing up when you see people reunite.
Like meeting up with an old friend.
Like laughing until your stomach hurts.
Like that refreshingly calm breath after crying real hard.
Like holding a *** for too long but then finding a bathroom.
Like your first cup of coffee in the morning.
Like snow, a fireplace, hot cocoa, and a blanket.
Like a flower blooming.
Like the sound of the ocean.
Like a cool breeze on a sweltering day.
Like a good, long embrace.
Like a shot of hard liquor that warms your insides.
Like getting promoted.
Like finishing a creative endeavor.
Like your favorite sports team winning.
Like a baby smiling at you.
Like finding a good book or a good series.
Like fixing something properly all by yourself.
Like finding blue or purple sea glass.
Like mail with your name on it that isn't bills.
It's probably not like any of these things,
*it's probably a whole lot ******* better.*
Nov 9, 2012
Nov 9, 2012 at 3:37 PM UTC
As firetrucks pass
And crowds gather round
The smoke billows through
From the sky to the ground
The town just watches
And silently gapes
At the mansion that’s burning
Right past the big gate
It’s four houses wide
And three stories tall
With a narrow tin roof
It would be easy to fall
The paint was chipping,
There was rust everywhere
But that was all covered
By the smoke in the air
“Is the monster gone?”
A boy asks his mother
She caresses his ear
And whispers in the other
“I’m not sure, baby.”
“But I hope that it’s true…”
She doesn’t finish the sentence
‘…or he’ll come and take you’.
You see, in this town
They suffered quite a plight
Of a demon that takes children,
Steals them into the night
Also in this town,
On the hill past the gate
Lives a solemn old man
Er well, lived I should say
If you guessed he resided
In that rickety castle
Well your guess would be right,
Now was that such a hassle?
He moved in last summer
And that’s when it started
Parents waking to find,
Their children departed
Without much thought,
The town formed a mob
To track down their kids,
Revenge the lives that were robbed
The signs slowly pointed
To the top of the hill,
To the castle past the gate
And the mob grew shrill
“It’s that man!”
“It’s that creep!”
“Let’s take him down!”
“We’ll band together and drive him out of our town!”
But as you know,
Mobs can be hectic
Then there was fire,
That part wasn’t directed
No one pointed fingers,
No one placed blame
For, you see, their goal
Was ultimately the same
Dispose of the monster,
The man in the house,
And now they all watched
As the fire was doused
The body was covered,
All white with a sheet
He was gone, they did it!
Good job, what a treat!
That night, the children,
All safe in their beds,
Slept soundly and safely
Happy thoughts in their heads
Their parents were jubilant,
All worry-free
Their babies were safe,
So they sighed “Yipee!”
But then midnight came,
To that boy with the mother,
When she awoke.
She cried and she shuddered
Her son, he was gone
Not a trace of him left
But an etching that said,
“I’ll be back for the rest”
Oct 16, 2012
Oct 16, 2012 at 4:18 AM UTC
First, I spotted the gaggle sagging innocently enough,
One might say blissfully reflected in the laptop screen.
Then out of nowhere came the phrase, "whodunit?”
And from the hanging sag, a sly, silky, voice whispered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Clearly a few clues were left behind, wispy hair strands,
Scattered age spots, skin tags, a few moles, posed upon a
Pale listless, crinkly, lightly pimpled, surface, and from a
Wrinkly, shallow crevasse a voice teased,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
Totally hooked, curiosity piqued, southward I spied,
A once upon a time perky, treasure chest, half hidden,
Now two solemn, empty grain sacks laid east to west,
And close to death but not quite, lazily they muttered,
"Ahhh, don't stop before the good part."
The final chapter, an ancient, untold mystery solved,
No crime, no villain, nothing stolen, only flesh alchemy,
Where a plateau of supple, touchable, skin once resided,
A lumpy, bumpy, flabby flesh pillow lolled, and it murmured,
“Ahhh, Boston cream pie, a quick nap, that's the ticket."
Apr 13, 2014
Apr 13, 2014 at 5:45 PM UTC
On the most lonely nights
When my thoughts can't help but wander to you
I ponder and debate
How much longer I would let
Your words dictate my well-being
But when the well-welcomed sun touches the horizon
I dream the haunting thoughts have resided
Once and for all
On occasion, when the lonely nights
Return
I fall asleep to the thought of you
And wake up to find
That you had never left my mind
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:22 PM UTC
I live in a paltry cottage,
with a cosy fireplace
and rosewood floors.
It offers me solace
and isolation and yet
my happiness seems
to have lost its way.
Then,I gaze outside at
the brook that welcomes
the sunshine like a
ship on a dock.
I gaze and gaze and
Gaze until I can't anymore.
Across the brook is my happiness
amongst the wilderness,
that fades away into
nothingness. And here
I am, on the dark side,
with grey clouds and
thunder and how it
roars like a sad
crow who doesn't
know how to fly
Anymore. My eye
lids droop and I
want to forget that
I no longer feel joy
inside my heart.
I want to forget the
bitterness that has
resided from the start.
All I feel is loneliness.
Jun 25, 2015
Jun 25, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
Although I missed you, I didn't miss the yells
And all the times you made me feel unwell;
Whether it was physical or emotional,
Your love was harsh and you made it seem personal.
Your huge hands to hold me, you used to hurt me.
Your warm smile you used to spit fire.
Those hazel eyes were made to captivate me,
And they did just that, in a prison cell was where I resided, forcefully.
Your loud, beautiful laugh was used mockingly,
And the way your words flowed showed me who I was, accidentally.
Your big, warm heart was charred- it beat quietly,
and you passed on the black smoke, unintentionally.
It filled up my mind, my lungs,
And with every breath I took I became even more numb.
Maybe this is why I look for you in every man,
It's all I've ever known.
And although it wasn't the most ideal plan,
Black was the only color I was ever shown.
Jun 4, 2014
Jun 4, 2014 at 7:47 PM UTC
"You're ******* your life away Bobby," screamed Auntie Abhaya in her native tongue. Malayalam has many nuances and maybe a better translation is, "lightning currents from your privates and blast River Ganga, streaming your soul away." Dravidian poetics go as such and Auntie Abhaya seemed to have quite dramatic flare. In any case, cousin Bobby was once again, drunk. Auntie Ay, as we lovingly referred to her, in her fearless way, was having nothing of it. Worse yet, seems Bobby had funded his ****** with rupees stolen from Auntie Chhaya's purse. A storm of tears she was, in the corner of the humble hut they all resided in, in Kerala.
Kerala's backwaters wash in from the Arabian Sea. Tropical delicacies abound; markets filled with fish, pineapple and coconut groves, and an array of spice that keep the main agricultural commerce of India most enticing to the rest of the world. Yet, life earnings are hard and for some hard habits easy to pick up. This was truest in Bobby's case, though he did try and try to make his family proud.
As I was only a guest in this loving but burdened home, and recognizing a family crisis at hand, I and my traveling partner put forth finances lost to ensure our safe return to Mumbai north in Maharashtra and not embarrass our host family any longer. Though we had touched a Garden of Eden, the lesson of banishment was still at hand.
Apr 14, 2016
Apr 14, 2016 at 9:13 AM UTC
He called in for a shower after being alone on the streets for a week.
Is that time enough
to get ***** for a shower
as a man nearly twenty-six
in years.
She could turn him away
like her father’s sister
might have and did.
From time to time.
It all depended on how many times in a week,
month, or year
he would show up without a call.
Without knowing he still existed.
Somehow, his presence and
absence
were a mixed blessing.
His presence was like a merry-go-round
that goes against the earth’s pull.
Like a brazen thorn
stuck into your shoe.
Unpredictable.
Vacuum-like.
******* all the ***** things in.
Taking everything in its sight
and power and making
everything contort
to his reality.
Where he and only he resided.
Would she open the door for him?
What she does know
is that she might risk speaking
in a bright happy voice
of a mother
so gladsome to see her son.
Welcoming him in.
Rather than turning him away
because of his inconvenience.
Grief is inconvenient.
That is one thing she knows.
Apr 24, 2023
Apr 24, 2023 at 9:36 AM UTC
A capricious young mind
alive with reveries of vistas and granite hues,
enthralling nocturnes
and his touch in the night air.
Disparate and removed
you contemplated the stars,
a life lived with arms outstretched
beckoning the notional.
Beneath the ceaseless sky
you yearned for his warmth,
to feel your ashen flesh adhere to his every fissure
raising your arms to his celestial vantage
you beckoned, once more.
From the dimming light,
above the distant horizon he rose -
like the smoke of an ardent fire that resided within,
ascending through your being,
coming to rest upon your weary head,
he suffused each lissom filament with a fragrance,
eternal.
©Thomas Gabriel
Dec 2, 2011
Dec 2, 2011 at 10:41 PM UTC