Breathe

Photo by Allef Vinicius on Unsplash

We fell

together

like words on a page.

Breath caught;

in the margins

between our bodies.

The biggest moments

in our lives

can only be

conveyed through a whisper,

or a SHOUT. My heart

says it all.

In my mouth

a hint of oyster,

tears half-salted. I can’t breathe.

My fingers dance

through your hair and I

find a rhythm

and I think maybe

you instigated

the whole thing

but it’s still music.

The kind of music

that makes you,

fall in love.

Heart to heart. I exhale.

Bodies breaking gently,

pressing and decompressing

like waves. I hold my breath.

We cling

lips, fingers, tongue

pausing

to steal a breath.

Your skin

touches my skin.

It’s too hot

to think.

DON’T THINK.

Just smile and float.

There’s something

stuck in my heart,

to feel is a blessing

and a curse.

We are all

the people in the world

when we are

tangled up together.

We are magenta.

My feelings

feel infinite.

I push you away.

I inhale deeply.

The air is cold

without your breath

inside of it.

It’s not enough.

There was no before

because I am sure

that I didn’t know

how to breathe

until you kissed me.

You were

my first breath,

I am alive

because of you.

I am auditing a free poetry class. Just started. Trying to understand rhythm but I have zero musical sense so I am not sure if I have achieved the effect I was after.

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Wordle #193 “Take Your Time”

Wordle 193

I want to take my time kissing you,
to slide my tongue between
the seams of your naked smile
and drink of your plaintive breath.
I want to taste the way you taste.

Let your smile cling
to my overexposed heart.
Take my words and wrap them around your tongue.
Feel without speaking
the miracle of your soul
interlaced with mine.

I want you to surrender
between my knees,
to pierce me like running water,
to spill into my darkness
hunger-blind and ineffable.
It doesn’t matter where we meet
only that you arrive
when the time comes.

I’ll make this easy.
I’ll take my time
making love to you.
I’ll fill my heart with stars
and I’ll burn brighter than the moon
so that wherever you go
you’ll always find your way
back to me.

Close

She always slept naked with the duvet pulled up to her shoulders. It was uncomfortably warm but she was unwilling to part with the weight against her skin. Insubstantial though it was, the pressure was reminiscent of a hug. She liked being held from every angle simultaneously. Like a gift, thoughtful and enigmatic. Like a moment, finite and eternally precious. It was early, a little before six o’clock and she was alone in bed. She slept in the middle of the mattress, at a diagonal. The early morning light had managed to push its way through the cracks in the blinds. It reminded her of the weedy gardens that sprang up intermittently on public sidewalks. She kept her eyes closed tightly but she could not totally filter out the extraneous light. Light which in the early morning seemed to her both hot and cold. She slipped in and out of consciousness with a rapidity that left her incapable of distinguishing her daydreams from her actual dreams.

 

She rolled over onto her right side and found herself pressed up against something unexpectedly solid. Something human warm. She placed her hand on top of the object cautiously, without peeking. She wanted to see if she could guess the object’s identity from touch alone. There was a pulse. Pillows didn’t have heartbeats or skin. Mattresses didn’t have bones or blood-heat. There was a scent in the air that was not her own. A scent that was deliciously human. Sucking her lower lip she continued to run her hand experimentally along the plains of the visitor’s chest and stomach. She heard him, for the figure was assuredly male, murmur. He woke by degrees. She continued to touch him with her eyes closed. Afraid that if she opened them that the foreign body of warmth would vanish. Once awake he climbed on top of her. His weight, resting partially on her pelvis. He touched her face gingerly. He touched her mouth with his fingertips. She took hold of his wrist, not wanting him to pull away from consideration. She did not want him to be overly considerate. She wanted his vulgar curiosity, the justifications and liberties that such a curiosity would afford her in turn. Had he truly been a stranger then she would have felt fear, shame at her own growing arousal, but he was not a stranger. Though none but the two of them could possibly hope to understand the ways in which they were connected. She kissed, licked, and nibbled at the pads of his fingers playfully. When he did not pull away she took his index finger partially into her mouth, sucking it, sliding up and down its length suggestively. He had done the same to her in a dream. She could feel his uneven breath, cool against her burning skin. She felt his energy above her, his gravity tugging at her from all sides. She opened her eyes and found that another pair regarded her. Half-lidded. A familiar shade of green. She released his hand and he lowered it to her cheek. The tips of his fingers were cool and damp with her saliva. He kissed her on the mouth. Smiled against her lips slightly and then kissed her again with more passion on finding her substantial and receptive. 

 

Had this been a dream the edges would have softened at intervals. For a few seconds she would have been able to taste his mouth, distinct from her own. For a few seconds she would have felt his mouth filling in the seams of her lips. She would have felt his lips working against hers and their tongues sliding together like a Stradivarius and a bow. She would retain the knowledge of what they did, the potency of arousal, but her sense of corporeality never held for very long. The act of kissing would yield to insinuation. His weight would compress and decompress according to her lucidity, which was intermittent at best. She clung to his shoulders expecting him to retreat into the ether. The mattress now cradling their combined weights remained compressed. He did not relent. She wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in, corset-close. “Don’t you dare wake up…” Her tone was teasing, a reprimand without the requisite bite.  She would never detain him against his will. Her lips brushed his lips when she spoke. He smiled against her. “I’m not asleep and neither are you.” He answered her. He spoke the words into her mouth, she felt them vibrate against her lips.

Didn’t plan to double post.

TBC?

Between Notes

Slivered and incandescent
our eyes redefine
each other in darkness.
A fragile, hungry darkness
that quickens the pulse.
Your posture speaks
of predation and surrender.

You drag me forward
and I have never possessed
my body more completely
then I do now suspended
in the tether of your arms.

The weight of your smile
in descent is sufficient
to keep me in place.
I have forgotten
how to breathe
between the notes.

My words have lost their shape
and I think as I feed them to you
that more syllables would
only confuse the sentiment.
The heart knows what it knows.

I am cacophonous, drowning,
at the insistence
of a shared pulse.
I am drowning
with our lips sealed together
and our tongues touching.
I am gathering your clothes
in my fingers in the hopes
of burying myself face down
in the warmth of your skin.

Two Short Poems

IMG_20200408_152059_127

1
Whenever we kiss
the skein that keeps
my heart afloat unravels
and I find in my depths,
a sense of freedom
that is simultaneously
savage and empathetic.

2
I will place a note for you
inside my pillowcase.
I will leave breadcrumbs
scattered throughout my dreams
and if you come I will be there
stripped to my essence
and ready to test the limits
of our combined imaginations.

Hunger and Editor Sought

Super Moon Water Reflection Android Wallpaper.jpg

Your lips pour into my crevices,

tongues converging at the seams

lucid as the portraits suspended

on the surface of a lake and supple

like the threads of a convalescing flame.

 

The air between us is inconsolable.

I take whatever I can forage from your lungs

but the deprivation leaves us both delirious.

Moored against you, I am drowning in the heat

of our molecules in soulful compression.

 

This must be how prayers come into being,

two disparate phenomena unraveling heart to heart

under an implacable and ever darkening mask.

Hunger is delicate, it doubles over itself,

it beseeches and is never laid to rest for long.

Last night and this morning I wrote three poems which I decided to submit to various magazines, somehow I managed to just get in another for my blog. Hopefully you will see those other poems sooner or later. I find I never know which poems to choose, which one fits best in the magazine that I am considering, which poem is good enough, the whole thing baffles me really.

For my 2nd book it seems that I will be in need of an editor. I have a tendency to read a poem as I intended it and miss simple mistakes so a second set of eyes would be extremely beneficial. Grammatically speaking I struggle with commas, semi-colons, and colon placement.

 

 

Give Your Heart Away

Heart Tree

1

Your fingertips are filled with static,

with flames so delicate that they burn

white and blue like the summer sky.

I collect your taste on the tip of my tongue,

your hands in a thousand places at once

and my pulse stronger for their greeting.

2

Today I told you that I loved you for the first time.

You kissed me and whispered

your answer directly into my mouth

and I felt it everywhere at once.

3

Your eyes are threadbare,

they have been asked to conceal too much

for too long and this dedication has made them soft.

Your heart has been lived in and acknowledged.

I’ve seen you give it up a million times,

you say the heart is necessary in every pursuit.

Tragedy

girl

I swallow the lightning

Of an alien skyline

The hiss

Of unaffiliated tongues

Colliding

The confetti tears

That smite on admission

I do not want to become

A tragedy unto myself

A shy suicide detonating

Under the gaze

Of an adroit firebrand

My identity is too fragile

To decipher

Without assimilation

*

Today has been very stressful. Sam has been seriously ill for the last 2 days. Turns out he was allergic to the Christmas tree. Isadora is absolutely devastated about the tree now that we’ve taken it out (were going to give it away). We plan to get a plastic one tomorrow but it doesn’t comfort her much in the meantime. I haven’t had more than 5 minutes of quiet time today, I actually wrote this on a crowded tram on the way to the mall to do some Christmas shopping so forgive me if its gibberish.

She Sings?!! (howls?)

sing

Before the horrible singing I have 2 poems just so you have something encase you dare not listen to my singing or do listen and need consoling and you will need consoling so please have something pleasing for yourself prepared afterwards. The singing is part of my do something out your comfort zone week of tortures ahem fun.  Singing in range of others is WAY out of my comfort zone! As a child in school plays I was always told to lipsinc, yep it is that bad.

Hunger

I’ve tasted hunger

The avarice of your mouth

Pirating my breath

Failure

Through your vacancy

My failure is imparted

These poems are yours

Authored under confinement

Soaked with aqueous humors

*

At your own risk! You can thank Nessa for this as I was inspired by her courage. I have always loved singing but alas it was never meant to be. I had a lot of ear infections as a child and thus I have a lot of scar tissue. Unfortunately I have trouble hearing mid range sounds. I can hear high frequencies decently and low frequencies the best. I often try to sing low because I can hear it but I don’t have a low voice so that right there is a problem lol The bad hearing is an issue in and of itself. I sound something like a cat whose been trapped inside of a washing  machine with a coyote. My voice is all over the place, it is very bizarre, disturbing, painful kind of voice. My speaking voice is fine but the moment I start singing it is spontaneous puberty. I have warned you on the upside after you listen to this you will feel like a rockstar in comparison =)

http://vocaroo.com/i/s0ZRESIf1CCs