I wonder to the wonder of your skin
sun touched and pink
beneath my fingertips
Roused by a memory of memories
reaching heights of loves sweet
play on soul
Thump
Tag Archives: writing
Holiday Time Rhyme
Rumble Grumble
Holiday time
Grumble Rumble
stand in line
Grumble Stumble
get home in time
Snuggle Bundle
to loved ones
Give in Smile
enjoy the holiday right.
Muse
sip
inhale
sip
inhale
sip inhale
sip inhale
sip SIP inhalEEeeexhale
*cough
laugh
sipsiplaughinahlesiplaughinhalesipinhaleinhalesipfuck
wake
feel
smile.
Another hat to wear.
I dance with the molecules surrounding me.
As vibrations from the speakers toss my insides
into a tingle.
I take it with ease until she enters…
I take it up a notch to the surface of reality
that must exist for lovers to not itch
like squirrels.
I take myself out of the lush grass
to the land of tight muscles,
tight jaws creaking into the night.
So tight
I loose my form.
I take on the shape of another and I ask why.
Why?
Why, when it was me the whole time?
The one with the power
to change at the drop of a hat.
To find another
hat to wear.
Take myself for granted no longer.
Lets dance.
You and I.
You are me,
I take you in my arms,
ultimate lover.
The one who has sold me on the story.
The one that has sold me on the relating of nothing
to everyone who relates to nothing.
Why did the stars form we know not.
It matters not.
Knowing the answer can do nothing but free the soul from questioning.
Yet questioning is what we hunger for.
It is the ultimate desire.
We crave
not knowing.
It is why we are empty when we figure
or believe we have figured
something out.
We need the unknown in order to feel alive.
In order to not die with addiction.
Addiction forming when the brain is bored in knowing.
The surrounding humans unable to handle
such awesomeness that can escape from one dream.
Unable to handle it enough to
dream for themselves.
Let it let it let it be.
Say it
one
two
three
times in repetitive forms of what but of course,
nothing.
Everything is nothing and nothing is in all things.
All created equal.
For all things are made out of the nothing of everything. . . I soak.
Dance with me,
me.
Always wanting more than she can handle.
Take it in happy like wine
Take it in the form of her parted lips
She deserves this.
The kiss…
The kiss that will end all other kisses.
The kiss that makes her swivel her hips and take a whiff
warm breath
exhaled by lover .
Left with no doubt of meaning.
Lusting,
Wanting…
good for you.
Getting,
Holding…
better for you.
So take.
Take the words given in the ache of a midnight
Take the information I give you.
Open her insides.
She waits. . .
she needs. . .
hair tangled hands to head to heat.
Meet and greet taking form of
warm body
holding down flesh of lover
taste of tongue savored.
Craving, real.
Passion, met.
Take these words in your mind and give her your lusting.
Remember, there’s a time lag of half a second from when you perceive something to when you become conscious of it…There is no choice but to live in constant catch up.
Remember
remember the Poet,
loosed lipped and easy at the hip
her taste buds are still forming
her mind still wondering if the goose bump will drench your skin
the skin you love.
Her give
your
tug.
Remember the timing of what was right
right before the fight came storming.
the stars missing the gaze of
your eyes watching out as they passed her by.
Remember the HEY that the horse ate
and the tan lines of laugh lines
now torn tears from good bye.
hold tight and ache why, ask why, be why
Remember why not…
Remember the wander of the wonder
how words came about from ink of swivel
now the flick of the tip just the tip tip tip
of hand
that caries meanings she herself
would never dare to dream of knowing she dreamed of.
Remember that day when the sun lifted the spirit
and your dress while you danced.
the poet birthing
herself
and dancing
to the gods created before the gods,
created after, and the ones no longer needed…
Talking to you
Talking to you is like talking to air…I wonder if the clutter it takes for me to ache ever reaches your ear.
Do you hear?
Do you hear?
Talking to you is paper bag brown and vulgar.
Lusting exits, slumber begins…the death of bed.
Talking with me is no better.
If the words fall sour and the tumbler sticks due to lack of lubricated intimacy, click tracked to conversation of space and time, the sound of foot prints fading, I must hear…clank, clunk.
Ravage me damn it!
Take it in and give it back out in the shout of your quiver.
Talking to you could be nothing, or everything. If I would stop to listen.
If you would drop in to listen.
If you would
Talk
to
You
More.
The decomposing of me.
Crisp moon at my feet, reflect to me my truest nature.
Lie to me not, for you know no such thing as ego.
Tell me, let go.
“Let go.”
Tell me…
Arriving at the green blades edge, my spine straightened by the freeze of the mountain water.
I fall into cold.
.
.
fall into feeling…
Memories once shoved into the cozy corner of the forgotten, are now jolted from their slumber.
Rushing the front of my brain like daggers shot from a booby-trapped tomb. Piercing the core of my denial.
Moods flooding, the murky reflections of meant to be.
The smell cringing in bubbles exiting my mouth.
Let me feel the burn of it.
Let me drift to the bottom, toes touching upon mud
Allow the fish to eat my eyes first.
No longer needing to see.
The pain they have witnessed, not just of myself, is enough to ache for the tinge of the first nibble.
The decomposing of me.
Hold death, let me feel the weight of water filled lungs, mouth gaping, deceived by the assumption of oxygen’s availability to me at all times.
Let me feel the disappointment.
Let the childhood stories, beginning with sledding and ending in crumpled panties and lost innocence, tag along with my last scream.
Allow me the release of knowing I am food.
Not driven with purpose yet fulfilling THE purpose…to feed what I have eaten.
No permission needed,
All are welcome to the piece.
Whispered Flaws
I write to you in my sleep.
Diamond sky, stardust lining ALL skins.
The waters touch quenching ANY thirst here or after.
The desert crumbling beneath toes dipped in valley.
You are there.
Visioned.
Seen.
Falling from risen.
True in being nothing.
Giving everything a meaningless meaning of seeing.
The dreams, like clouds, we dance upon their vapor.
Whispered flaws yelled from clasped claws…
Sleepily you write to me also…
Agreed upon pronunciation.
She believes the human lives for the story.
The story of who they were, who they are, who they want to be and who doubted them as they still believed in well, the story of . . . them. . . of her…of you.
She ponders wishing on stars in the definition of labels.
Believing in grimacing and taking on the TIME as hers.
Thinking she was given IT, time, to invest in her life.
She sees now that you are the giving of nothing.
Nothing beyond the limits set before you, by others and the little they believed of themselves.
Which was fed by others who believed even less in themselves…and so on…
So.
She questions.
Questioning who she thought she was, who she thinks she is.
Questioning the dream created during a time of escape and survival.
Questioning even, the agreement of ink in relaying speech.
Agreed upon pronunciation.
Questioning, for even speech, same as God and Jesus and lack there of, was birthed by humans.
Created and passed on for the purpose of , what else but, a STORY.
allesor 