"wickedly" poems
On the molded plastic black keys
Tip- tap tipping away
Smiling wickedly
With self-satisfaction
Words deliberately in a sociopathic array
Crazed Eyes agleam
Thoughts rambling across the planets
In and out of reality
Both far and away
Each letter vibrates with its own life
The deranged wordsmith's release
So the clicking and typing
Systemic vacant sounds
Never seem to cease
To the mad poet
The combinations of descriptive words
Overpowering
Promotes the disease
Hypnotizing
Beguiling
Calling in a sweet voice
To the mad poet
In letters A to Z
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3),
Tammy M Darby
Jul 19, 2013
Jul 19, 2013 at 6:30 PM UTC
my smallheaded pearshaped
lady in gluey twilight
moving,suddenly
is three animals. The
minute waist continually
with an African gesture
utters a frivolous intense half of
Girl which(like some
floating snake upon itself always and
slowly which upward certainly is pouring)emits
a pose
:to twitter wickedly
whereas the big and firm legs moving solemnly
like careful and furious and beautiful elephants
(mingled in whispering thickly smooth thighs
thinkingly)
remind me of Woman and
how between
her hips India is.
5.9k
The sun bakes down heavily on a plastic micro planet in Orlando, Florida
where crowded trams drop American bushels of tourists into an alien world.
Quickly fantasy comes alive
through a corporation of disguise.
The workers mask themselves in a drapery of familiar life
-like costumes to charm little children’s hearts.
They smile wildly, carving a clear dimple line on the but of their cheeks. Walt’s Disney World
must have driven every one of America’s circuses out of business.
The flying trapeze is too elegant,
people now want to be strapped in,
buckled up and whipped around
to forcibly experience the true velocity of entertainment.
Even the participant’s attire is geared for this third world oblivion. Neon ***** packs rest like bloated kangaroo pouches
on fat sweaty old lady’s round hips, their plump fingers
holding on to leashed harnesses reined to their child’s small chest.
This is vacation,
strangers of people in massive conglomerations
with confused expressions and burnt faces.
Even the food seems wickedly unnatural,
like an artificial order of burning plastic and sour dough surprise.
Waiting is the enthusiast’s pastime as parades
of anxious voyeurs are captivated by a trance
fixation of lights and whistles.
They line up like schools of lemming,
plunging on rides,
one by one.
This is the place
Where memories are made
And dreams come true
Sep 25, 2010
Sep 25, 2010 at 12:25 PM UTC
Her folly lies in her capacity to love dangerously,
For she loves in many faces, in many words and in many tongues.
She lives inside her love, mutating her heart ever so.
Relishing, perilously, in the daze of its endangerment.
And for the fragments of her heart she is so terribly loved in return.
But only for a moment.
For she holds too much insanity in her sorrowful bones.
It infests her blue veins and plays with her hair.
It kisses her in the darkness of hidden longing,
And traces her skin with wistful desire.
Her insanity holds her to the wall and caresses her neck.
Her insanity gives her a cigarette and watches her blue smoke dance with a smile in the early morning.
Her insanity laughs with her in a melancholy haze of youthful poverty.
Her insanity holds her in his arms.
Her insanity is inescapably wistful.
It finds her in the night,
In the secret carousels of woeful nostalgia.
Her insanity has destroyed her so, and has so wickedly masked it as bliss.
She is irrevocably doomed, for she will spend her days submerged in an ocean of faces;
Hoping, so beautifully desperately,
That she will find a piece of him inside them.
-
*"Can I stay here a little longer?
I'm so happy here."*
Apr 10, 2014
Apr 10, 2014 at 10:01 AM UTC
Aye, Vladimir, just before I met thee
I hath been sure I hath loved him-
no matter as queer as it may hath seemed!
Thou knowest not, how much tears I hath shredded
and noticest not, how t'eir vanity made me look dead!
But why-why then didst thou appear-
and wokest within me t'is secret fear-
with understanding in thy eyes,
and with a love t'at is to me so dear.
Why-why t'en thou left me, left me again!
Whenst I got to knowest thou but for a moment,
ah, with not so much of an endearment-
afforded ourselves only t'at streak of lovely,
but still weak of too a bond,
or any pact, of young novelty.
And everything was corrupt
As soon as thou re-released me
into t'ese qualms of insincerity
wherest I am still tossed about, guilty.
And hushed, hushed always,
like a trivial, parallel wind!
As though my dear heart's bathed in sin
and of a soul t'at is so thin
So worthy not of thy soulfulness
and sweet dreams of many happinesses.
Ah, Vladimir! If only thou could knowest
T'is thread of passion thou hath sowed
and how my entirety seekest being loved
By thee, and only by thee, o my rain!
As thou art but king to my sneaky moon
and my very own kingdom of stars
Not him-not him, o t'is I entreat,
albeit his wits hath been but to me so sweet.
Still he be a mistake, ah, a chilly autumn mistake
to me, from whom I didst just turn awake.
Probably thou would hath loved me;
imperishably and blindingly,
until all thy superb charms and wit
t'at wert but tortured and unbending
shalt be left within me lit;
and thus leaving our fiery souls entwined
with winds t'at art even sweeter
yet might be torturously everlasting.
Vladimir, Vladimir, oh my only Vladimir!
Thou altogether belongst with me; here,
so unjustly yet heavenly
And in our hands is cherished
our love, o, so wickedly-but fatefully!
How I longst to be thy lover, dearest-
and be so comely as thy only flower;
which ripens thickly in thy winter
and blooms robustly, in thy summer.
Mar 20, 2013
Mar 20, 2013 at 7:07 AM UTC
Gazing into her crystal eyes
not a glimpse of light
in her pale illustrious orbs
her couture matched
the threads of a goddess woven by silk
never has the world heard such a harmonious voice
her hair as black and glossy
like raven feathers
a frame so divine
complexities came to mind
that god himself was almost unable to
carve a radiant smile as glimmering
her soft skin made her known
as the temptress of the night
her sweet mouth sang of hymns children slept too
the curvature of her chin wickedly attractive
following the course of her smile to her rosy cheeks
the ring on her finger is one of saturns
the hue from her lips are as red as foxes
burning with infinite intensity.
Her pale forehead knew every answer in the universe
the glow between her eyebrows majestic
her third eye spoke of exquisite beauty
holy light was her aura
angels danced around her
shrouding her body with stardust from the heavens
butterflies applied her makeup
whenever she arose from her chrysalis
revolving the world on her throne
without a bead of pressure to perspire
her vocals an instrument to my heart
listened to with wild passion
luster from her skin expensive as gold from India
her existence was solace
for rational reasoning alone
unflawed her lips reached mine
under the eclipse
the shadow of my phantom
caressing her hips
my wild craving tasting
what it it truly means to be in love.
The orchestra of her movement
can save a man from death
her words whispered to me like rhinestones
the touch from her waxy hand
trembling across my stature
cracking, shaking
with electricity at every fiber
pulsating from my heart to hers
capsizing from secrets dripping in my ear
she treats me to more wine kisses
traces of her ruby red lipstick
on my chest
her lofty thoughts completed mine.
the golden trim of life
seen throughout the land.
Oct 2, 2013
Oct 2, 2013 at 10:59 PM UTC
Many people feel fear
When you speak of Evil,
Their Bibles clutched dear
As their hot hearts chill.
A great deal think of Satan
With his foul demonic band.
Show them a pentagram
And most fear their bodies
Will be possessed at once
By some demonic heathen
Looking for his lunch.
But I, having lived a hard life,
Fear not Satan’s treachery
Or his delivery of strife,
Nor the fabled imagery
The church once did write.
I seldom fear going to Hell
And basking in flames for eternity
Or not getting a farewell
Into a kingdom of just divinity.
Oh no, my mind is quite filled
With the brimstone inferno
Caused by the wickedly free-willed.
Those very individuals
Who say they renounce Evil
Have beaten me to a pulp
For asking to be their equal.
So don’t be naive and let thy name be trod
By those who yell "Satan"
Only to betray God.
Jun 11, 2019
Jun 11, 2019 at 5:28 PM UTC
I halfheartedly grasped the ledge
Peering indecisively over the edge
Wondering perhaps in all seriousness if I should let go
A freefall of the mind is what they call it '
And if you do not experience it
Why and how could you possibly comment
And in all honesty, say it is an emotion you know?
A little less grew my grip on the edge
Taking momentary notice of the crumbling ledge
My mind wanders into a place where all is nothingness
And nothingness is the norm
I let my mind freefall as they call it
Into oblivion and time dissolved it
Finding myself very comfortable in this environment
I wished never to return
So I concocted a simple cunning game
Whenever spoken to by the seemingly sane
Smiling wickedly
Into nodding confirming faces
I repeat these words
A freefall of the mind is what they call it '
And if you haven't experienced it
How could you possibly comment
And in all honesty, say it is an emotion you know?
@ copyright Tammy M Darby Nov. 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018
Nov 24, 2018 at 5:27 PM UTC
so now, do I, I do,
he favors the the top of my breast ,
where the spaghetti strap leads
his eye lower, to the fulsome swelling,
curves he favors in a linear
world
these magnets of human flesh are
attributes of me, unsolicited, part
of my “collegial endowment” and
yet,
no denial,
this egg of my accent,
a fullness employable, knows well,
full employment
ah, mon oeuf d'accent,
the accent of my accidental,
for lives are just linear lines
warped occasionally, nicely.
swelling in wonderful frailty,
the curvature of the human
eyes, that draw curves of
human spirit,
^that are drawn by sprites
with wickedly humorous
insight*
Dec 6, 2023
Dec 6, 2023 at 3:55 PM UTC
A ***** is just a witch,
that knows how to play..
Without spells and a broom
to make ones feel some gloom.
She is after all, nothing but green with envy,
She'll always stay just some blonde with a chevy.
You might feel bad,
But she is wickedly mad,
you know.
Without her magic-
she's lost her logic!
Don't pay a dime,
for it's not a crime
worth caring for.
Dec 30, 2010
Dec 30, 2010 at 9:41 PM UTC
He looked at me with luscious
devious eyes so, I winked asked
him did he want some action; his
look was of a fatal attraction and
his mind locked me in ******* his
eyes denuded my flesh as he suckled
my breast, I coiled in pleasured duress
He licked his lips as I submitted to his
lustful toying, moans acknowledge my
attraction to his lascivious actions and he
salivated ensnaring nakedness in roped
interaction
As his appetizing admonishment began;
I wickedly grinned and to his chagrin;
tightened my bonds, splayed cheeks
coaxing me to seep as his tongue licked
in calculated dips and I shuddered in
satisfaction with each sip
Wet lips began to quiver; each taunt
delivered, hands slid behind back with another
toy he attacked, eight inches long in & out, I began to
sing a song as pleasure surged, wracking my body;
begging for more each time its full measure dipped
into my treasure
I looked up as he turned me over dripping wet,
I smiled, winked again with another wicked grin,
fore, he had no idea what he'd gotten into; he tied
up the wrong nymph, thought I was just a sweet
kitten; had him smitten after gettin' a taste, as if,
he'd lost his mitten playing with this sultry kitten
Jun 29, 2012
Jun 29, 2012 at 4:50 AM UTC
lovely bones scattered on the floor,
beautifully red and intersecting all over the door.
lovely bones ran clean with no scrapes from the knife,
the very knife that took their life.
lovely bones, so beautiful, so pretty.
more beautiful than their blood that tasted ever so sweet.
lovely bones decorated the floor so beautifully and gave it the beauty of death,
not caring that i took their owners breath.
my beautiful bones, my lovely bones,
smooth and heavy as beautiful stones.
my lovely bones, i stroke your skulls,
your blank inexpressive expression tells it all.
i love your beautiful ribs and spine,
knowing that they are now mine.
but my favorite of all time is the arm and leg bones,
i love that bone.
its beautiful and long with a unique characteristic.
its beauty is just so majestic!
my beautiful lovely bones, i adore you!
i laugh wickedly as i fondled you.
my lovely bones, so beautiful,
only getting you was a task i must fulfill.
come to me, my fantasy as beautiful as dazzling stones,
my angelic, lovely bones.
May 19, 2012
May 19, 2012 at 10:48 PM UTC
I ate the fire you were saving
The soft glimmer that burned
Behind the times it earned
A flame flickering in vain
I swallowed it whole
So it would explode
To let the fury inside you go
Glow and grow into a wonderful
World of wickedly insightful words
A vampire I ****** on your artistic energy
Cause you weren’t using it anyways
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 1:01 PM UTC
time governs
you and me
treat it not
irreverently
chance the unknown
while you can
sands of time
pause for no woman nor man
one and all
quick sticks
the time piece
it ticks it ticks
dithers and dawdlers
hear the alarm
wasted days
do each of us
irreversible harm
of the calendar year
we are sure
but moments in time
are pending trapdoors
make every venture
your stock in trade
lest time render us
uncertain and afraid
in reality rosters
and agendas do vary
devilish time
oft wickedly contrary
speed up Jack and Jill
sundials are on a roll
time is indiscriminate
exacting
a costly toll
governor time
is carefully deliberating
our pendulums
remonstrating
Jan 11, 2014
Jan 11, 2014 at 9:08 PM UTC
I am living in the 1920s
I am missing the shaking tassel dresses, the whispering red lips and the springing curls
I live through the deep emptiness of an uncurled smile from a boy who has a shine in his eye
A shine from a coin filled with the greed for the nothingness of wealth
His gaping presence has replaced wickedly free men
What remains are toying boys craving meaning
Behind the shade of the thinly golden pattern
Of whiskey blurred nights
Of shivering embraces
Barely touching in numbness
I love you meaning I do not acknowledge your depth or care to know mine
What meaning?
Apr 20, 2014
Apr 20, 2014 at 12:58 PM UTC
There's a broken reverence we hold
For those who've lost
We fear to be bold
We sidestep their woe, keeping our arms wickedly crossed
We offer polite comfort,
A distant hug, and awkward pat
They're like a ticking bomb, we stay alert
Keep the conversation to a minimal chat
Jan 6, 2013
Jan 6, 2013 at 3:52 PM UTC
im a let that bass set
back to the view you
been checking me at
you be asking me questions like
do you not love yourself?
***** better check yourself
i would have taken my strap
to the back of my right cheek fat
sprayed my old gang with shrap
the blood and my skull by the scrap
so please bare with me
child will you ever see
we on the attack
this country that we born in,
is the enemy to the ones that we once had
turning itself into the biggest group of bang
so now that you are stuck in this whirlwind insane
ready to die, bonnie and clyde , two thousand and nine
when you gonna see that this dynamic duo
dont make the world turn with our voodoo
they dont know whats going on here
they too busy across seas in the world
so what we doing 85 when we ride
they just wiped out a whole **** tribe
two bullets holes instead of their eyes
world dont even take this country seriously
they have us on every angle no peers
just the enemies, spitting prophecies
made in their fears
that we gonna collapse
everyone put money in us by the wraps
too many kids going to bed starved
when other fat *** mother *******
grow too many vegetables in their yard
turn nutrition into trash, so what if they compact
all you old *** troops, still living in the war that we had
were a whole planet of warriors, let alone were the home
to the worst and the best of the wickedly out of the world
celebrate your serial killers, and dead rulers, not even with curls
so even tho it took Jimmy Henchman seven days
the reaper follows me in ever track that i lead
believe that I never write the realest **** i ever spoke
knowing the secrets of the underworld let me bleed
shouldn't have ever seaked out the truth they wrote
setting all the serpents septers after me, black cats
shotty caps, bullet scraps, hub cabs, and shorty tats
Grim Reaper oxyacetylenes in my dreams chrome gleams
Protected by the Prince of Air, setting things right first in my dreams
Nov 8, 2013
Nov 8, 2013 at 12:39 PM UTC
I wonder…
Wherever this nebulous varmint is
Here, there, everywhere
Does he ever look to himself in shame
He who leaves his iniquitous stains
For all the hatred he lays claim?
He gives tongue to the anemic, weakened mettle
Wheezing his nidorous, putrid breath into its chambers
Leaving behind his dark, black, deadly whispers
Of desolated emptiness his demonic sinister
He entombs them alive those he perversely abducts
To his Cimmerian, shadowy hell
Slither back to your bottomless pit
You tenebrous angel from purgatory
You don’t deserve a capital ‘A’ for angel
In your God forsaken name
Demon of greed and endless shame
Conjuring up ways to wickedly ensnare those
Who’ve weakly stumbled to their knees
You were cast down from the Great One’s Home
You don't deserve this world to roam
This is ‘Lights Out’
The demise of you and me and everything I used to be!
Don’t hurl me your meager crumbs of wretched love
As you wickedly tally my teardrops in The Mighty’s rain
You menacing angel I recognize your despicable fame
I’m through dancing to your stygian, sooty song
Go back to Hades where you chose to belong
You cheat; you lie with your unlit, callous façade
You Cerberus hound from hell you are not from my loving God
At long last I see behind your lurid, false masquerade
You malevolent angel cast from Heaven
I pray, you incubus, you succubus
Recoil back to your wicked inferno
Go crawling back to your lake of fire
Ye who chose crepuscular, selfish desire
And...
Pathetically became you
______________________
Apr 11, 2013
Apr 11, 2013 at 6:03 PM UTC
You are a beauty that echoes in my eyes
Sparks dance along your corners and curves
Your smile pulls at the edge of my mouth every time
I’d like your shirt crumpled on my bedroom floor.
Because when it comes down to it darling
I need your fingers to make love with mine
Kiss me like the air from my lungs is ambrosia
Hold me like we could meld desire in our sighs
You are in the curl of my toes and the arch of my back
My half lidded eyes and weakened knees
The gentle spark in the nerves down my spine
The flush down my chest and the flare in my cheeks
Your molecules form constellations behind my eyes
Your imperfections fit my missing parts like peace
I will murmur you so wickedly high
Because you’re beautiful when loving me.
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
i. you will miss him in drizzles and monsoons, in swells and tsunamis. you will listen to his favorite song for hours; it will hit you every unexpected moment. it will hurt, stab, ache, and you will suppress constant screams with strained lips.
ii. you will collect everything he gave to you and wonder if it is dimensionally real. you will sleep in his shirts, retaste saltwater kisses, and reread conversations as if there's something you missed the previous thirty times. absence does not make the heart grow fonder; it rips it apart and you cannot stitch the ragged halves with no thread.
iii. you will feel his touch presently in everything you do. it will be soft and cruelly comforting. it will constantly and inescapably linger. it will haunt you in early rainy mornings and dark lonely evenings.
iv. you will read endless musings on love and philosophy. you will entirely understand foucault's prison. you will live in steinbeck's tide pools and stars, and relate to simon bolivar trapped in his labyrinth. you will wonder why everything is like this, ugly and broken (and also if you are becoming delusional).
v. you will drink tea that scalds your tongue and stand outside on freezing nights, numb and overfeeling at the same time. you will ask the silent moon a thousand questions. you will see him and blink, head swimming, heart pounding in surges. the stars will wink and the wind will mock you.
vi. you will have blissful afternoons you forget and sorrowful nights you remember. it will still consume you in bouts, devour you in spells. nighttime will become both your enemy and remedy: it will wickedly remind you, yet help you heal.
vii. you will try and fail to make sense of him (and the universe in general). you will grapple with reality and yourself. perhaps you will never know why he stopped loving you: you will keep wondering how some things can just be left broken.
iix. slowly, slowly, you will sprout on your own; you will be tender and nearly whole. most importantly, you will realize his love brought you an entirely different kind of happiness.
ix. you will stop worrying and trying to piece together an empty puzzle. even the deepest scars find their way of fading. your mom was right: stop picking at the scab and your wound will heal.
x. you will learn to love yourself in ways he never could have loved you.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 2:35 AM UTC
Brother, the stilts you stand on scare me.
Towering high to rip down our sun
And leave us all in darkness.
You shout down at me fast, and passionately.
You feel this in your heart, but my God
Can I feel the beat through my entire body.
It should be shaking the melanin right off
Of your middle class skeleton, strong
With the calcium of tall men's lies.
Take those stilts off, and walk a mile
With us, fighting our bodies to fetch
Our water, brown and thick with their ****
I am appalled. Life is dangerous enough,
Without people like you, blending into the night,
With only your wickedly naive eyes giving you away.
Oct 25, 2016
Oct 25, 2016 at 9:52 PM UTC
Smokey bubbles-- Trapped behind glass
Filling up the murky water like spherical clouds of the sea
Bursting in heaven as blissful flatulence
~~~
Lightening my heart, bringing freedom to my womb
Scrawled across my walls
Graffiti inside my heart
~~~
I pull this patience from my well in solitude
Homogenising the cultivated need within to better suit my needs
Breathe deeply and clear
~~~
Resting wickedly -- Passing moments endeared
Acceptance as I pick up my chain...
...*But there will always be time to dream, and it will never matter because time does not exist in my dreams*
-
Aug 14, 2015
Aug 14, 2015 at 4:30 PM UTC
His fingers examine mine.
Large experienced hands
Smoothed by rivers of past experience.
Tracing, tripping on the stony boulders in my creek.
Please tell me a story they beg.
The creek whispers “What is in the black hat?”
His slanted eyes smile wickedly.
“Play me for it”
Rock. Paper. Scissor. Shoot.
Rock. Rock. Rock.
A magician’s slip of the hand.
Cheshire cat grins always win.
Paper triumphs over rock.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
My boulders try to Cut and Paste the paper.
Tell me a story. Please.
What happened to the black hat?
His eyes- transfix mine- watching them watch me.
A coin pulled out of my ear.
Glinting-mischievous- dare I say- caring.
One larger than the other.
His hand in mine.
Did his face just say that?
Explain the eyes magician.
What’s behind the black hat?
Why do the eyes slant?
Why can’t you see straight?
Why can’t I see you straight?
What is beneath the hat?
His finger traces my hips, my lips.
I talk. Talk. Cover it with talk.
Talk in circles- dance in- jab, retreat- spin.
Please. Story. Hat.
Two lips block black and white text.
The magician’s done it again.
Searching for the trick I whirl away.
What is in the hat?
I challenge.
Rock. Paper. Scissor. Shoot.
Scissor. Scissor.
Scissor never works.
Slip slit- out of fabric.
The rainbow scarf slips back up the sleeve.
His eyelashes blink
Remind me forget forget.
White bunnies spin in my eyes.
One eye bigger than the other.
No story to see.
Black Hat.
The white bunny hops back in the hat.
Where did it go?
My finger, traces, digs, his lips.
Praying. Open. Speak.
Hat. Black Hat. Hat.
Cheshire cats don’t speak. Just stare.
River Hands circle my waist.
A bouquet pulled out of his sleeve.
Before he can—stare
Boulders BLOCK. Hands over the eyes.
No more tricks.
No more tricks.
“Wanna play?”
Rock. Paper. Scissor. Shoot.
Paper? Paper? Paper?
I fall into the black hat.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:19 AM UTC
*ants crawl on
slowly*
1.
left eye is hopping fast for days now
and time's but a fair damsel
of delightful illusion
how she taunts and teases you
into sweet oblivion
of wickedly sensual basking
she drugs you with deep charisma
and struts at the doorway of your senses
she clutches onto the tracks in your mind
and claws deep into your ragged psyche
that same old song playing
over and over...
........over
2.
see right through train's chassis
rail sleepers spin vigorously backward
in such frightful haste
to get nowhere
no-one knows the real speed of time
out there.....
but for mere mortals
it's leniently paced in adagio
and parceled in mellowed excruciation
as ants walk serene
alongside the tracks
3.
creep into chaotic patterns
fall into hell
through a secret back door
even satan knows not of
as perched as he is
on his oh-so lofty pile of ordure
his blind heart
sees not
the strobed tracks
of your visiting soul
4.
take a syncopated shot up the arm
from the foul fang of a kind sinner
while saints bathe in fat glory
elsewhere
when you look again
you lie alone in a corner room
broken
yet untethered
tracks to heaven so obscured
by
your paradoxical attempts at levity
on the twisted playground of life's malady
5.
how badly you tripped
so many **** times
you ....got in the way
of your
own
remise
each time you fell
you looked UP
expecting help
when all the while
the answers lay
at your feet:
[your own mistakes are authentic and real;
you try to fox-tread out
but trying to turn your back on a *****
called destiny - equals catastrophe personified
oh, she WILL beckon you back
with her crooked finger
most kindly
to ensure no overdue lessons wait too long.....]
*the ants crawl on
so
slowly*
S T, Wed 10 July 2013
Jul 10, 2013
Jul 10, 2013 at 6:52 AM UTC
I breathe out
and inhale you in
sweet white oxygyn
reaching upward
through my nostrils
traveling to my depleted lungs
I drink you up
first in small scared sips
and then I'm gulping
the warm kindness
the authentic core-coating love
that I have only found one other time
in my mother's eyes
that has been there, this whole time
a devotion that demands tears
I let you own me
You wrap your tired arms around me
they've been trying for these five torn years
and you finally feel another human being
in that embrace
Your body like a blanket
covering me
finally allowed to protect me
from the harm I had created so wickedly for myself,
a ********* paralyzed in life
I surrender from all of this pain
conforming under your skin
allowing all that makes you so
incredible
"Five years," you say
and today begins
the first day our love is truly
shared.
Nov 19, 2012
Nov 19, 2012 at 2:40 AM UTC