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.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
-
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...
-
two squinting painted eyes looking solemn on a leathery face. this knight of the golden age has a 20 gallon bucket of a hat atop his slicked...
-
I was just awarded the Perfect Poet Award from Promising Poet's Cafe/Jingle Poetry. I'm excited, I want to nominate everybody but I...
-
I dismiss my mounds of paper, habitual piling. I embrace a soft blue-jay's tail.
-
my lungs are sandbags. full of stories.
-
sex object. not afraid of the words. I've used many objects for the sake of sex. in fact my body has been pretty disposable- I don't...
-
August 2003! A spree, and the W.A.P another month of you and possibly me W.A.P stands for wild animal park, if you don't remember- the ...
-
This is just a short note from me to inform you that after my extensive monthly study and subsequent written exploration of Psalms and Prove...
-
driving home from the farmer's market- I can't see anything- through this storm- I come home to sleep- with you-rest in your arms fu...
This is gorgeous - so sensual and still at the same time. Love it.
ReplyDeleteFrom tactile to the abstract; what a wonderful relationship.
ReplyDeletethanks! ;)
ReplyDeleteWhat did he mean by that? (kidding) Lovely writing! I enjoyed this one very much.
ReplyDeleteHere's my offering for Potluck 48: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/the-lake/
smart one.
ReplyDeletelove the message behind.