I'll find you-
in muted early morning light
falling around curves of flesh
causing ancient thoughts to ignite
and filling hearts with forgotten splendor
Twin dermis seeking safety will reunite
each of it's tingling nerves not one abandoned
and that rising sound of steel through icing's delight
not thickened tension, but sweet release.
Mouths collapse into endless fight
struggling to find air and words
the tongue lost in the traces of night
but finding moments to escape
to prove it's adoration isn't slight
Now rusty parts slide and shift with ease
and fingers clasping mechanisms tight
cogwheels greased with desperation
put out the flicker of shutter sight
grinding out sorrowful sighs of pleasure
demanded and supplied with might.
Anxieties of separation sedated,
the buzz of humming-bird like flight
Created nothing less of surrender
frustration having taken the largest bite.
the depth of this dawn on the horizon
exceeded the sun's highest height
though the later day will bring it's sinking
and another tunnel-like plight.
Another sorrow will build upon itself, heavy.
When beings part, there is nothing like it quite
And there is only one recourse I see
this fiction of which I write-
Friday, July 23, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
-
hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
-
husband and I trek a mile for ice cream just for the creamy banana, crunchy pecans, and chunks of thumb-sized chocolate. shoes flipping and...
-
The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
-
A woman's stance feet parted so that like a breezy window the mantle opened slightly lets in curves of salty air- but here there is no, ...
-
I was just awarded the Stylish Blogger Award! (awarded by John Evans ) I was asked to write 7 things about myself,and to award 10 ot...
-
as I left the waterfront and I climbed up the sandy stair as always his brothers were first; to greet me. I've had past dealings with th...
-
The Opera The eyes of the firing-squad are aimed with lashed cross-hairs for now we, the chorus, all look like oiled up black ducks in a ro...
-
Tickling toes- there was something about that barefooted madness something about that wistful waist-high wishing and wooshing in the woods, ...
-
when we are twisted up together-in blankets and the colors of the outside of our window- are washed out in the storm.

I love the rhyme scheme here, and the entire thing. great write Amy. :-) <3
ReplyDeletethanks Dana!!
ReplyDelete