Wordle #452

Wordle 452

She stood alone in front of the bathroom mirror. Her large, voyeuristic eyes were like keyholes. Intervals of darkness beyond which two separate, untenanted universes lurked. The sunlight spilled shyly across the wet floor and she thought rather abstractly that it looked like torn satin. She reached her fingers into the light and wiggled them around for a moment. That something so gentle, so ethereal should have the power to burn her only enhanced her sense of mourning. How many times had she had her own heart broken? Love, she thought, is rather like sunlight. She felt as if she could never love again. Not in the same way, not to the same degree. Yet, deep down she knew that she loved him still. That she would always love him, not just as she did now, but more with each passing day. He probably loved her too. Someday, she hoped, that he would end her suffering with a confession.

She could feel herself shrinking into her pink bathrobe. She was shocked by the weight of her bones, by their implacability, by the way they held her in place before her own volatile portrait. That I should carry a cage inside of my very own body! She thought laughing out loud. Sometimes she forced laughter when she was by herself. She bit the end of her thumb with a shudder but reality did not release her.

She unlocked the door. Each room in her house had a story, a fragment of truth that under scrutiny caused some aspect of her persona to unravel. She was not naturally a tidy person, at least, inwardly she knew herself to be a mess. She was not particularly fond of white walls. She had no use for tiny tea lights or candles of any sort. If she ever lit them she’d forget them and the whole building would go up in flames. It was for this reason that she never bothered lighting the fireplace.

When she passed by her roommate’s bedroom she did not lift her eyes but continued on to the kitchen in search of breakfast. In an hour or so her roommate would leave and she’d have the house all to herself. She had the whole day planned. Cry. Exercise. Cum. Sleep. Repeat. She would think of him when she came. She would call his name with all the fierceness of a prayer. She thought his name delicious but she’d never told him so. The waves of orgasm would inundate/erode her senses. Her silt-heavy head would empty itself of all extraneous stimuli. For a few precious moments it would be just the two of them.

(don’t write so many short stories)

Wordle #444

Wordle 444

I trace your lips with my tongue
unraveling myself in your mouth
as if I were a molten skyline
or an orgy of juvenile lust
scribbled between
the fine blue margins
of a hormone soaked diary.

If it were up to me
you’d drag my body
speared and piecemeal
from room to room
and fill me to drowning.
Your green eyes loosening
the threads which hold
my sense of self intact.

If I were made of lace
I’d come apart on top of you
like butterfly wings
in a child’s hands.
I never thought a figment
could go so deep
but the bite marks
in my heart are proof of possession,
proof that you have altered my design.
If it is the chase you relish
then I have already lost
for love could never be a game to me.

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Wordle #441

Wordle 443

Your smile cracks

against my knuckles

like a pagan sun

newly exonerated.

Knees pinched, I wonder

what your words would feel like

gathered on my tongue.

 

If it were possible I would

fossilize every touch in amber

and create a menagerie

of moments that are uniquely us.

 

You assemble me in your arms.

Heart chopped off at the wrist.

You give of yourself willingly.

 

I wrap around you

like a length of rope

too tightly situated.

 

I never thought we’d meet

ironed into a dove grey sky

with the masses scattering

over the streets like fog.

 

Let them gawk and cringe.

There is only room enough

in this interval for the two of us.

 

The ground beneath us

gives way to aperture

and all that absence

rendered unbelievable

is palpable as a song.

 

We stand clustered

in an ocean formed

entirely of whispers.

 

I have spent my whole life

debating signs in search of tokens.

I have spent my whole life

taped into the creases

of inferior lovers, waiting

for my dreams

to rise to the surface.

 

There is something

almost holy about the way

you move across my mind.

A sultry crawl, a bolt of lightning,

a disembodied voice

splitting each ragged breath

strait down the center.

 

My nerves yield to parchment.

Scribed in fire each second

fills me like a heathen mist.

My soul shifts to the outside

and with your fingers deftly curled

you weave our roots into tapestry.

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Wordle #442

Wordle 442

What is a demon if not a man
churning with buried rage?
I see my future scored
by your melancholy fire.
I hear your murmurs
give way to screams
and tight-lipped diatribes.
I speak only for the sake of levity.
To say a thing
and have it mean something
might be taken as an act of war.

I don’t remember
the precise moment
when your eyes
turned to ash
only the bitterness
thereafter.
What you cannot define
you obliterate.
My soul.
My dreams.
My beliefs.

A high, breathless sigh
squeezed out through
the hole in my chest
is all that I can manage.
Chased by your idle tempest
my heart echoes like a chime.
Shrill, lonely, hollow on the inside.

I carry your smirks,
like razor blades
underneath my tongue.
In the shower
I let the water
exhaust my tears.
Tears which sting
as much as if they were
made of blood.

Love hurts
and what does not hurt
scars into carapace.
I never learn…

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sorry for the delay sick

Wordle #440

Wordle 440

Comfort

If I blink I might miss the shimmer
of the moon reflected over crystal clear water.
A lone sclera, she lounges behind
a ring of hymeneal clouds.
In her all that is malformed finds its origin.
I call out to her, torn wrists upturned in supplication.
This is where we start,
pages threadbare in repetition.

My heart is a blasphemous stone,
an estuary of blood and bone fragments.
I check her corridors and deposits
but they are both empty.
It is only when she speaks
that I am made aware of her beauty.

My pockets are full of stillborn flowers
each stem cut carefully on the diagonal.
How much does it cost to fix a life
that has already expired
and how much more
to construct a new one?

If my curves were truly divine
would your lips not tremble to taste me?
If my words were sufficiently sweet
would you climb on top of me
and press your fingers deep inside
of my tear-soaked silhouette?
The things we could do
to each other are endless.

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Wordle #436

Wordle 436.png

As a child I used to stand in front of the mirror
stripping my identities off layer by layer
until all that remained of my ego was my odyl.
Come morning I would gather up my potential,
my masks and the scarred boxes that held them
delighted in the knowledge that I could be anyone.

I survived because I was never still,
because my dreams were too big for lists,
too big to cram into my bloody left pocket.
I loved but the universe did not think
to grant me love in return.
My heart opened and closed like a trap
but I was so afraid of what I might catch
that I put up warning signs all over.
I fell in love with the love of others.
I became a voyeur, a listener, a story-teller.
I shared my favorite things
with my favorite people and held my breath.

My trust comes in waves,
it either is or it is not
depending on my mood.
My trust is not in the goodness of man,
which I have no right to judge,
but in the cyclic nature of all things great and small.
A man can tell lies but he will always be a man.

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Wordle #437

Wordle 437

A horned moon perfectly hoisted,
your smile cleaves a coterie of limp branches,
its effulgent blade pressing into my pulse.
Beneath your insistence my skin blossoms
first red than purple, as if it were a garden.

Your hands are careless underneath my dress,
popping the buttons accidentally or on purpose,
but never staying anywhere long enough
to raise my expectations. It’s all teasing
until one of us is swallowed whole.

You kiss me hopefully, lips blood red
and tasting of pie or is it mulberry wine?
There are no takers in this scenario
only paper thin wings pressed flat against our ribs.
I promise to stay and see this through if you will.

Stars, delicate as eggshells, tumble
uncharted from a brimstone sky.
Whatever our families’ reservations
nothing matters that is beyond the scope of our love.

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The Sunday Whirl “Wordle 435”

Wordle 435.png

My veneer curls at the edges,
hands pressed against my chest.
I hope that my heart doesn’t get out
she is too needy, she is too wild.
I hardly recognize myself
in the glow of your smile.

I promised myself
I wouldn’t blush,
in front of you again
but here I stand
shining like a beacon.

Your arms are open
and there is a twinkle in your eyes
that could reorient the heavens.
We speak with our eyes closed,
lips intractable, tongues touching.

I hope that we’ll never keep score.
Resentment is a thirsty mistress.
I have seen her turn good men into stone,
I have seen her turn women acerbic like smoke.
Whoever told you that life should be fair
forgot the prejudice of greed.

Your knee brushes mine
and I know that you mean to depart
while there is still heat between us.
I wish I could be more cheerful,
watching you fade in and out of view.
I blow another kiss to ease my mind.

Sunday Whirl #364 and Music Challenge #33 “Hope in the Air” Sung by Laura Marling and Sunday Writing Prompt “Rorschach Test 3”

Wordle 364.jpgkisspng-rorschach-test-ink-blot-test-flowers-for-algernon-blot-5ad9186b33ea66.0973386315241770032127.png

The lilt of the rain echoes
the longing of a woman revoked.
I never made a ripple
not even when feeding your ego
hand over fist.
I rose to your defense,
scoffed the warnings
that could have freed me
from fate’s unforgiving grip.
Beware of blind faith,
a man that condemns reason
has something to hide.

You preyed on my hopes,
on my body which I gave
as proof of commitment.
My dreams were bigger in scope
than reality could ever realize.
Your heart was too cold
for the fires raging inside of me.

I was barely a woman when we met
but that did not stay your hands.
I remained long after you left,
I remained for the sake of the life
that grew within my trembling womb.
Never did you lift a finger in service
to the miracle our union evoked.

The sky above splits,
thin fingers erupt from the darkness
like a body breaking loose from its grave.
There is no quiet left to bestow,
my mind will not sleep
given the misery that it has sown.
Somewhere your broken body rests.
Does death still dream?
Because I can’t feel a goddamn thing.

I sat all night in my dusty clothes,
my white dress speckled with blood.
The moon as fine as a razor’s grin
and I knew with relief
that he would never see this terrible sight.
Our child was taken from me
and with him all that remained of my sanity.

What becomes of the living
when life has stolen everything?
We wanted only to be chosen,
to be brilliant through association
but you refused to yield.
I won’t be held accountable
for the loneliness
that your loveless smile provoked.

for
https://sundaywhirl.wordpress.com/2018/08/11/wordle-364/
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/10/music-challenge-33-hope-in-the-air-sung-by-laura-marling/
https://mindlovemiserysmenagerie.wordpress.com/2018/08/12/sunday-writing-prompt-rorschach-test-3/

Sunday Whirl #359 and 363

 

Her

He speaks and I am diminished.

I dig my hand into my ribs

trying to muffle my heart’s entreaty.

Any minute now I will shed my skin,

my turbulent, brittle terror

and set off across the lawn with a quiet resolve.

Him

I undress you every time we meet.

Your electric blue eyes lower in tandem.

I have no reason to define my lust.

From the cabinet you extract two long stem glasses.

The clock reads 2 minutes shy of midnight.

Her

If I were a boat I would take to the sea,

my weight suspended in a skein of watercolors.

My bones remember your weight

and I know that I should refrain.

Why can’t I refrain?

Him

The bend between your hip and waist, the perfect ratio.

Our bodies twine in greeting, the red wig is a nice touch.

Save your words for when you are face down,

pillow underneath your pelvis, body indecent.

There is no space for love in this equation.

Her

Beneath you I am worn stone-smooth.

We dance across the floor,

eggshells shattering beneath our shoes

and you will not speak of sin or shame.

I know exactly what is in store for us,

what becomes of women who live too long in the shade.

Him

The only promise I ever made

was that I would not be amended by you.

I am exactly the man that I said I was.

Could it be that you are someone else entirely?

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