a memory of you
sepia toned passion
a still life in monochrome
brownish tint, faded at the edges
an artists rendering
capturing of heat
the touch, the taste
of sweat stained silk
hand painted pink
aside
steam roils from us urgently
kisses caress you there
and there below
deeper still
the length of you fills my eyes
your softened gaze
hardens my
resolve
curves of tan hips tighten
bead of sweat on furrowed brow
on heaving breast
nipple hardened – backlit only
soft- focused window light
taste you there
feel you moan
the flatness of your belly
warm hands
below your navel
outstretched fingers… upcurled toes
a scream… release
hands run the length of you
tongue walks the breadth of you
back arching, arms clenching
me who’s inside of you
melt in your arms.
promises and damned lies
out she went
without goodbye or hope
of reconciliation
with a handful of dollars
a closet of empty promises and unwiped tears
half a bottle of misremembered JD
and realization that sometimes
infinity is just a sideways
number
that comes before nine
out of the midnight black
the slam of thunder’s hand
gunshots in the blackness
a storm of sound and fury
the lightning flash is insight bright
dangerous, hot to the touch
seeking the ground of truth
she knows, now, that 10%
of a dream is a waking nightmare
and she understands, here, that 10%
of the truth is still a damned lie
and she cries, now, for 10%
of his love is 90% of nothing
and he is gone,
and the dream is still here
whispering lies at midnight
forever
is just a word except
when it’s not and
love
is always a verb except
when it’s not real and
always is an empty promise except
when you do what you say and
then
and then
it’s one day at a time
yes,
just one stinking day
at a time
and she never asked for more
just one stinking day
of constant love
and simply his tenderness
forever, for a day
and
just one bloody day with
no damned lies
and one sober night
and eights only eights
just one fucking
sideways eight
and nothing more.
nothing. fucking. more.
If You Were Here
if you were here, breathing,
the rise and fall of you
against my fingertips
your breasts would heave,
beside me, rise and fall
with goose-fleshed pleasure
if you were here, wrapping
your long, slender legs
about me, shielding me,
my skin would buckle beneath
your prickle-pointed hairs
baby
’cause you’d know the urgency
and there’d be neither time nor
reason for shaving there
just isn’t time for perfect
when must is calling
if you were here, my dear
i’d know your sounds in darkness
the touch of music against
the heat of me, the smooth jazz of
your soft hair would stroke
in syncopation to my back beat –
all jump starts, and bebops
and swang it babee swang its
until we be fusion honey
just a little funky hot sauce
on our musical flow
’cause if I was near you, babee,
hips would sway and sway and
sway the way you know they sway
when we dance the mambo and
maybe if you’re nice i’ll let
you follow
if you’re nice i’ll let you
follow and if you’re niiiiceee
i’ll let you
follow?
but you’re not with me, baby
and i can’t dance alone
except i can dream, my babee
and dreams, i dream of you
about the times, those few minutes
when i dance with you, and
if you’re nice i’ll let you
lead and
you’re always nice my
babee, always.
Writer, poet, photographer, philosopher, father, life coach, people watcher, grammar guerrilla. Check out my writing and/or photography blogs.
In case anyone wonders, my poems are always fiction, except when I write about my childhood. So don’t even go there.
Man – you cut off my comment in my head…:-)
I love the pieces on their own – but have them in this sequence I just felt like I fell in love, had my heart broke, and then was left with acceptance and hope.
I need a drink now.
Reading your interpretation, maybe there is a subconscious truth in these after all.
That is precisely what happened. Thanks so much for the comment.
Exceptional work, quite exceptional and then you own comment made me smile too! I have signed up. c
Cecelia, thank you very much.
These are so beautiful! Such clear images and powerful emotions.