gold riot…

I am gold dust anymore

dancing within the wind

wild and uncaring

catch my eyes shining

where only your storm remains

my lips no longer speak

of temptutous devils

their beautiful words

long murdered inside me

i know now

i know dark and light

smoked holes and divine temples

in far away places

my fingers tracing a riot and eternity

and you founded in every space

every line and curve

no other will do

I know now

I know

I know

believe

here I am

and you

 still existing

*For you darling

 

 

 

 

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breath of life…

 

95bf15de9dfe30b3f3ab416778b78137

*pic from bing images

There is this existence of you

entwined in rays of light

somehow in silence

in stillness

you linger

an unknown air

all encompassing

as if I have yet to be

yet to breathe 

until you…

 

 

felled from my lips…

there will be an end…
I’m uncertain with which means it is to happen

perhaps I’ll be 105
well beyond breathing expectation

I may still carry an ocean in my eyes but maybe they’ll reflect his sky

I won’t ever unknow him and my heart races surging with that truth

yet I may never ever truly know the movement of he…my heart already feels every ounce of that kind of empty

I probably won’t hear very well at that age as my ears are forever plugged into music…even now I write with live and intoxicating sounds flowing through me

I am fluid in uncertainty; the remains of hesitation line my lungs; these effects travel through time…I know I still feel this, what this is in the now; and so feel it then

squeezing every drop of he from me…I’m airless and deaf in the loud disclosure of quietness; even then when I’m 105 I will feel as now; alone…uncared for…exposed and unfurled, scented with don’t waste me

I dont know how to navigate this terrain, its foreign soil slipping through my fingers, and chokehold on my red dusted heart

tell me, should I turn to leave
jump from cliffs
slide into the crevasse
disappear into a dark lake bottom
never speak of you again

I can’t undo you
too late 
I am 105, carried in my last breaths I whisper of now, of you, your every obscured words puzzled, nuzzled in my pores 

I whisper of the ghosts in your writing…chanting your name

come here
show me, love 
let me practice the entirety of you
open to me
the sound of you…

falling until felled from my lips

of implications darling…

I have not found an hour
in which thoughts 
have not drift 
to the sun of you
burning my mind
heart aglow and fiery
lighted over the seconds collected
raining us in heaven’s gold
forgiveness and salvation in length 
lovers stretch far across the night
reflected in midnighted moons
when did I realize that expanse of you
and this skin I’ve been wearing 
undesired
hiding the complexion of underneath 
salacious deep 
come shed me
to shed me of faded oceans
shed the old to reborn stars
understand this implication
of love existing
yet not in dreams 
rather persistent & real
let the measured 
dimensions of you
harbored in the place
before me
stay as is
beautiful framework 
of past lives left lived…
enter as otherworldly 
a bold unknown
do not deny I beg 
nor falter love

in this ever of hours…

will you kiss me
come midnight
love all my years
let all my trivialities
melt away from the
heat of your mouth

will you want my sex
come 1:00 a.m.  
taste rained earth
thirst & take more 
our blend forming
a perfect universe

will you read me passionately
come 3:00 a.m.
as it demands we meet often
under the stars and moolight
we never more than a few pages
away inside of our minds

will you wrap to my form
come 4:00 a.m.
contented with our rhythm and sound; the ease of breathing together 
to end & begin infinitely

will you wake me 
at 5:00 a.m.
to repeat our beckoning ache
once is never enough; 
nor is forever 

will you dream of me
come 6:00 a.m.
travel back a thousand years
to once again encounter me;
remember

or will you come
the ever of hours
release the tourniquet 
stay your distance
watch me bleed afar
until I am no more
your vision
no more your desire
if ever I was; am

in flight…no turning back; we breathe together into thin air

So often I write with music playing in my ear. Usually its the melody that draws words from me and they find their way up out from my depth… Yet this time the words came before music…from the thin fissure that is opening inside me, a promising light slipping through the crack. It feels as something reminescent of long ago, a timelessness coming clean.
An unfolding that speaks of forever. This that I feel, is not in my head…rather of something deeper.  And so I wrote this and then remembered a song; its melody appropriate for my poem and of course the words befitting. I heard this song (one below) a long while ago. I’ve even written other poems as it played in the background. This time it just speaks to me in a positive light…and it feels like I’m flying 😉

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Feathered
I began to stretch
limbs groaned
releasing disease
of dormancy
dusting off stagnation
fingers smoothed
every stroke brushed back
ruffled roughness

outstretched and opened 
your breath lifts me
above love’s  grave
one glance
     ~he found me surrounded in midnight~
one dare
     ~just come know me~
one word whispered
      ~yes~

…and we took to flight

sensuous art…(part 2)

This is part 2 of the bedtime story I wrote quite a few weeks ago…enjoy! You will find a link to part 1 below

Of course as he is winding the rope
his deft fingers graze my rising nips
and softly feather along my skin.
His mouth leaves a trace of delicate kisses
in the places where the knots are to lay. 
The desire is evident as he the artist
caresses his canvas, but as any artist
perhaps understands, there is this need driving one to create perfection. The feel of the piece, timing, rapt attention essential for art to become living. His art happens to be the weaving of rope. He holds his medium with careful deliberation of placement. Perfectly  aligned to produce pleasure yet prolong satisfaction. He is an artist in anticipation, with a full vision formulating in his mind. He dare not rush, for delay, a slight hesitation creates ache. All part of his ploy to raise awareness to skin, watch my flesh come alive under his command. 

My lover inspects his art. Testing each knot…each finger and knuckle slipping underneath the rope to test its tension. 
Of course this sends sensations along my body and with each slow deliberate tug, the vibrations grow stronger. Its not long before my chest starts heaving, becoming more breathless in waiting for his touch. Quiet moans escape through my lips. My eyes look to his as one rises, deep throated. I see fire light behind his eyes. My moans are to his liking, encouraging him to move more painstakingly slow. His mouth suppresses a wickedness that will come out later, of that I am certain.

He is careful in his inspection and I so eager, so willing to let his hand slide up my thighs, slowly begin to open for him. 
There is one very carefully placed knot that must be tried. I am splayed on the bed, aching, waiting for his fingers to tug, to inspect but it does not come and my ache only increases. I find his eyes wandering again. He is searching me with wildfire burning in his gaze. I, watching him as he admires his art. So delicious is each smoldering glance between us. I feel the thrumming, a throbbing heat as the knotted rope lays snug against my sex. He knows what he has created. A firestorm! And it is building, yet intentionally delayed. There is a beautiful city beyond our private walls to first explore…

to be continued…

you can find the first post here;
Sensuous art…(part 1)