Monday, August 15, 2011

secrets

our silence comes easy
and there is much to it
the commingling of our fingers
and the swapping of palm oils
and the nimble saltation of fingertips
it says so much.
and yet you stare at my neck
and say that my throat is the
home of a chorus of birds
and such harmonies never allow
for secrets.
Posted by at
Labels:

5 comments:

  1. UnknownAugust 15, 2011 at 11:48 AM

    This is gorgeous - so sensual and still at the same time. Love it.

    ReplyDelete
  2. AnonymousAugust 16, 2011 at 9:29 AM

    From tactile to the abstract; what a wonderful relationship.

    ReplyDelete
  3. bttrflyscarAugust 16, 2011 at 1:22 PM

    thanks! ;)

    ReplyDelete
  4. AnonymousAugust 16, 2011 at 3:00 PM

    What did he mean by that? (kidding) Lovely writing! I enjoyed this one very much.

    Here's my offering for Potluck 48: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/the-lake/

    ReplyDelete
  5. Maxwell Mead Williams Robinson BarryAugust 17, 2011 at 9:44 AM

    smart one.
    love the message behind.

    ReplyDelete

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)

Reach for the clouds. . .

Tickle your toes. . .

  • thoughtful hillbillies
    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....
  • full of coins
    hunger is sometimes preferable to loneliness. a stomach will twist- but hands become dirty and heavy when full of coins.
  • small stone #4
    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...
  • Day 8
    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...
  • indigo
    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...
  • Oh Boy!
    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...
  • last waking hours
    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, ...
  • the evening peaks
    when we are twisted up together-in blankets and the colors of the outside of our window- are washed out in the storm.
  • Day 3
    The Anchor for Joel When love embarks, with its generating propellers slicing through the interminable oceans of imperfection that are, for ...
  • self
    nipped at the ankles which is how I wander through life sometimes I must be pushed through a door finally opened after years of knock...

Poets United Contributor