I want to sleep where the stars kiss the loam
and slumber in sweet repose
With a milky dust blanket that sighs like feathers upon me.
And when the cricket's chorus heralds the gloaming,
we will lay far from man's folly
upon the heels of giants
It feels like a red day
The want of it itches at the edges of my mind
Soon, it will clamor like a spoiled child
Pay attention to me!
I have no choice but to drape myself in red
I slip fevered limbs through red silk
I slide red tipped toes into patent leather that gleams,
like a mirror into my soul
It appeases the dangerous menace.
But just for a little while
Soon, the hungry beast paces through my veins.
My skin feels desperate
It crawls on caged bone
My thoughts, on a tight leash, are snapped back to red
The desire gnaws unrepentant through my belly and settles, like a smoldering fire in my loins
is the color of my sweet lovers blood
Sweet, like honey
Tonight, I will bathe in scarlet
to cage the beast
and find peace once again
~ written for Rich Withey's provocative prompt. Love the idea of a visual prompt Rich!
Learning to Fly
I, was once your chariot queen
Strong arms bore warm taffy skin that
hummed with uncharted energy
Too soon, sinew and bone was preferred.
You, shot out like a cannon and never looked back
And we, kept pace beside you
Righting you when you needed
But you rarely did
For me, the training wheels came off way too soon
But your balance defied gravity
And so, I watched as your ever expanding reach carried you further and further away.
Today, the test drive was bittersweet
And while we were there to help you navigate the sticky pitch,
you signed on the dotted line.
And as I watched you speed away,
the scent of warm taffy skin welled up in my heart,
and my arms ached, just a little,
with the memory of holding you.
The core of my being has always tread lightly
yet I walk like a queen
The paradox of it splits me down the middle and leaves jagged scars that drip and scorch along the seams of my pride.
I am often split wide open
Just like you, my vulnerabilities are always treading water.
But perfect posture belies imperfection
And expectations are suffocating
I am bound to disappoint
My flaws are frayed from endless picking, and my fingers bled dry from the task.
So please, do not be fooled by my commanding presence
for I wear beggars clothes
Fold into you
I will dance with stars
and melt moonbeams in my mouth
I will dress in midnight gauze
And when the shores of blue recede
I will float the day upon comet trails.
I will stir the sheets
and let clouds drift down upon me
I will pour a cup of moonlight
And as night folds up the day,
and silver slides upon the sill,
under a thousand threads
I will find you
And fold myself
up into you
Peace of Time
My quiver of points are gathering dust
Righteous riots release on tide of days.
Time has softened their sharp edges, and breathes cool through chafed thoughts.
My anger no longer of consequence.
It feels like warm taffy sometimes to just let go and melt into you.
There, the rights and wrongs recede into nothing.
Time has made moot their once urgent itch.
And in the peace of time I will come to you
like a child
Borne anew on the strands of time
I sheltered your pain that day, just here, between the beats of my heart.
I saw how your face fell, soft and slack,
eyes moist with unbearable news.
The words ricocheted around the sterile room,
with the grace of a Mack truck right at your gut.
I saw your chest cave in,
As if every last bit of breath was abandoning your body.
"Breathe!" I thought.
But when you did, the flood began.
Cry, my friend. It's ok
I will be here to swim the tide with you.
And when the mourning breaks on light of day
there's but one thing left to do.
The crash landing came fast and hard. It feels like a bomb exploded in here yet the landscape of the room remains intact.
Yes, the walls are still standing
but my legs have suddenly disintegrated and I find myself teetering on the edge of reality.
Your sense of balance however,
appears to be wholly unfazed by the napalm blast that has just dropped from your mouth.
Your face though, is beginning to melt.
It's folding in on itself.
I can see spasms of pain and regret rippling across it, turning it into a mask of a man I no longer recognize.
Who are you?
Who is this stranger with a bazooka come to lay waste to everything we have built?
I can see the stranger has something to say.
His lips are moving but the screams in my head are drowning out his words.
What does it matter any way?
Words can make no difference.
Anything that can be said will seem like a foreign language to me.
I am a stranger in a strange land now,
and all my sign posts have been blasted away.
And the love I thought we shared...
is drifting down like ashes...
to settle like death at your feet
Dreams in the Dust
Most of them had their dreams neatly folded in little fanny packs or packs they wore on their backs. A few of them had nothing. They were dressed not unlike you and I. With jeans and t-shirts. A few of the women's jeans had stylishly placed frayed holes at their thighs or their knees.
Those holes caused them considerable discomfort now in the frigid night air and they sat, huddled together, pulling their legs in tight to their chests.
They all had different stories to tell, but they didn't tell them.
Instead, they spoke of the future. How their hopes and dreams would one day be enough to fill a house,
with plenty left over for their children to dream big.
But that was days ago
and tonight, nobody was speaking. Instead, they sat silent shivering in the cold night air thinking of those they loved. The vitality of their life force could be measured by the clouds that ballooned from their mouths. One or two lay motionless, with not even enough energy left to shiver. Their breath almost imperceptible. Their exhaled dreams drift for a brief moment in front of their drawn faces then dissipate to nothing in the night air.
And when the dawn breaks, a few more will have slipped away in the night. For those that remain, the heat of the desert sun will make a stench of the dead. It will beat it's fists upon the semi truck
that sits abandoned
In a sea of desert sand
The Salt of Tears
You reached out to touch my face that day.
Your fingers seemed already cold upon my moist cheeks.
I felt my tears must have had a lifetime of pain in each drop.
With a wry smile, your thumb made a gentle arc across my cheek to wipe away the pain.
you placed your thumb in your mouth, closed your eyes,
and heaved a great sigh.
Your breath expelled slow and steady, and I watched as the salt of my tears unlocked the grief you had been trying to hide.
Our pain bloomed in each line and crease upon your face.
You corralled me in to your chest and held me tight there.
And we both wept.
is easier than saying goodbye.