a certain keeping…

why should she resist

resonating within her heart

he is risk luring her to leap

yet, hesitation borders the edge

where silence pulls her mind

want & ache propel her veins

dread is not her cloak

nor fear her religion

only he, a lighted sky; aflame

revolution of wildfire storms

as love touches the boundary of skin

beautiful scars lay permenant underneath

blood rushes

breath flows

earth consistenly shifts

sensuous years left spinning; still unknown

time an ever-revolving mystery

and our love…

a certain keeping

slipping us into the deep

we, a whisper away

 

 

 

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Violence & Violet of my Veins…

I let it all fall away

this aged untruth

brittle & cracked 

little bits & pieces blow away

 in every gust of your air

why should I awaken at this time

surrounded 

in unexplainable phenomena 

is any reason necessary…

I must be unafraid

an opened heart

dreaming light

breathing ageless memories

and find you are

the violence and violet

 of my veins

 

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

 

 

 

 

once upon a sleeper…

you opened my cocooned pod
I felt the ice melting
from my cryogenic sleep
raising my beats
from shunned to shine
I began to upcycle wasted tears
eyelashes coated with stardust 
I braved the idea of possibilites
conquered a black diamond run
one turn at time
I was felled darling
with black dove wings
trying to reach peace
atop your sky…

I don’t know now 
where you are…

rupture…

I can’t be here
not as this 
too many drops
per square inch
in this storm

I splatter 
falling to earth
left run off water
into the gutter

that’s where it takes me
everything I feel
in the dankest place
dark and dirty
sewer swallows my hope

I am ruptured
nothing to gather
except blood in hand
unfashionable to taste
dry this rusted color 
burden hued
heaviness in your hand
simply wash it away
scrub hard…

yet particles of me will only remain
as you shake dry your hand
wipe it across your chest
parts of me absorb into you
pretend I am nothing once again…

but for a breath of a moment 
I was more…

more than nothing
yet not enough 
to be more…
not enough to be
more than anything 
but ruptured metallic
bits

and then you find yourself in War…too deep, too far amid

I don’t have words 
I feel fear of failing miserably 
looming; this energy of grand loss 
when each word I start to write catches 
on the jagged edge of my faded pages
I am many (jagged and faded)
insignificant words
after they fall (dead leaves)
to the ground
scattering to hidden corners
declaring war in my mind; in my heart
too deep, too far amid the atmosphere
nanotechnology embedded
Manipulating cerebral cortex
more fissures than normal
deeper sucilai 
I’m malfunctioning 
parts misused
misfire
misrepresented
left, too often, unattended
simulating some 
biological mutated form
agile communication lessening
update unavailable
no security key
defenseless in silence
they’re preforming 
these incessant cyborganic thoughts 
I push’em aside  
yet only to come back tenfold
ten times stronger 
my blades are dull
from hacking away
at the cleaving fiber optics of want
(or is it need)
this war wages 
surrounding my heart 
conduit of heat and humidity
perpetually walking
abandoned into winter
waiting
to be important enough
a wildfire to melt the concept of never
intuitively though 
I fear I am dismissible 
rather easily in
a complexly intelligent brain
it takes its toll
hurts like fucking hell…

9:46 am confession…just another useless waterfall

I stand here questioning
every word of my slient voice
written to the heart of pages

what if my mouth is permanently numb
And I can’t skin you with my tongue

I claim to have this capacity to love
But what if it’s a lie? 
What if I am a lie?
What if I am not real ?
Am I only pretend?
just a fucked up aberration 
or typicality 
unwanted middle aged drab
aging perfumed water
my head spins straight to my core
my heart breaks every minute
in every beat
62 this last minute
splits in two chambers
or eight
Or 64
Unmeasurable hairline fractures

a two headed monster 
what if its always been the dominate Me 
repeated play of hurtful things

I keep seeking self torture
so very little recovery anyway 
so just hurt me
and hurt 
And hurt 
me over again 

never really have I been loved
a proper beautiful thing
only golden threads turn to rust
crushed in hands of would be lovers

Am I this unfeeling dumb bitch 
undeserving
sick and twisted
for my indiscretions   
All those years ago
weak and fettered 
lost girl 
finding and thinking
love between her thighs

how have I become this nothing of force 
just shattered mess of dark red glass
picking up droplets from the dirt
sandy grit having changed my shape 
my edges unable to fit together

incapable blend
sweet wicked berry juice
inproper fraction sips
incomplete whole

what actions
measures have I taken
keep swallowing
to seek and self destroy

Please don’t do it 
don’t destroy
I beg 
I beg 
my pauper cries out
A beggar for something
not ever certain
anymore

I am only good to avoid
as I hold stick glue
trying adhere substance to water

everything of my being
is really unremarkable 
for their absence tells me so

this dark breath sighs
and life I let run over me 
surrender 
let it interpret my outcome

take me
notice or not
numb or too emotional 
love or hate
what am I anyway
but a twitch easily flicked away
a decayed rose 
green thorn inbetween 
third and fourth rib
perhaps fire dying 
and water stilling
try to burn to rise
fail to drown to feel

everything
I am or not
as ever uncertain

yet even more so now
split and splayed 
fileted 
before
you

impossble to grow new skin…the shadows know

I kept scrubbing to strip
myself into new skin
hard as I tried to reclaim
the skin I’m dying for
I still woke up me…

A tired unwanted woman…
(inserting self-hatred things here…) 

I tried to baptized
my skin in the bath
to renew 
refresh
recall 
recalibrate
yet it remained 
as it has been 
the ruination of a once
wanted beauty
and slowly I slip
into the darkness
of shadows
where I search for my 
cold breathe
letting me know
I still breathe

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)