we war for days
I wake a thousand times
across the long spartan floors of Sunday night
through snowfall Monday
morning, and I suspect
we're cooked, for she hasn't kissed me
back for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours.
we've gotta make it right for both of us;
Is this how women do it, maybe not even realizing
that you can't speak with a man
of break up
and allow him to touch you thereafter
unless certain that those touches are desired,
(and do not resist them if they are)
but if they are not
stand
asid!e
when he puts his lips
to the softest place,
beneath the ear,
small
wild,
your secret
access,
absolutia.
Let not the intimacy
rob you dumbly
of compassion.
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Comments
You are such a visual writer.
--
[link]
= buy my original paintings for super cheap!
[link]
=Visit my Flickr
Your words have always had the power to move me.
Thank you.
--
move with the grace of trees dancing past streetlights.
--
I read once that the ancient Egyptians had 50 words for sand and the Eskimos had 100 words for snow. I wish I had 1,000 words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep and there are no words for that
And you write it beautifully.
--
The promise: to live.
and allow him to touch you thereafter
unless certain that those touches are desired,
(and do not resist them if they are)
but if they are not
stand
asid!e
when he puts his lips
to the softest place,
beneath the ear,
small
wild,
your secret
access,
absolutia.
Let not the intimacy
rob you, dumb
of compassion.
There is definitely quite a lot of intimacy in the details here...as if one's lover were so familiar with the curve and make-up of her {I hope that makes even the smallest amount of sense}. I'm not the best at giving advanced criticism...I just know that this piece is quite vuluptuous {yes...that's what I mean} in delivery.
--
May God help me if I ever have to use my art...
--
She tossed her head back
Chuckled at his abrasives
And cocked her vengeance
back for hours and hours and hours and hours and hours
(god i loved that line!)
love makes me intimate,
and intimacy makes me paranoid, and
in paranoia i cling desperatley to love
(what an Ouroboros affair)
--
There are three mirrors in my apartment. If I broke them all, would I still be here? -- Elizabeth Brewster
--
Live To Write And Write To Live
the simplicity is extraordinarily profound. i find it interesting how you are able to convey an issue that is so difficult for many to understand with such simple language.
beautiful.
w.i.
--
-All men dream: but not equally
-Night hides the anomalies of the day, but day holds more truth by the dawn
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