within me
evening out
between us
a virgin trust
delicate cusps
into the unknown
where change is constant
and nothing ever really changesyet there will always be more poetry
to write in the spaces between
each accidental electric
tangible touch
of skin and
souls
Source: trixclibrarian
souls denounce without needing or knowing the concept of distance between this loving which was nothing more than a mind set ajar by boredom built into a wall of paper you pretend is solid so you can tell yourself i don’t hear it in the sound of your pen sluishing across to spell afar when we are not apart at all but standing along opposite sides of a barrier, not a fissure, of tissue and all i can or ever will do is poke the same friendly finger through because the picture you originally drew for amusement or use was not neurological but conglomeral and undoubtedly a bad match in terms of souls among whom i’ve never known separation so souly utterly like this us in
the end
there is wishful thinking and then there is wishful thinking of skin and flesh and the scent of darkness pulled over our heads like a blanket of silky bone not boners because i’m not talking about any kind of simple fuck or even something complex and rough i’m talking about the touch that leaves a wet spot in your panties for three days running down your thigh before you’ve ever felt and even if you don’t to remind you how little you really do know and oh the thrill of discovering something you now believe doesn’t exist anywhere yet besides inside your loins on sincereful fire ignited by hands reaching for the small small of your back up around over shoulders between blades of sinewy tingling shadowy echoing shivers delightful a thousand times time in and time out in a slow motion love affair that hasn’t started behind those luminous night eyes shining into who i am becoming for all eternity when minds hold eyes gaze right through to glorious* bliss
all i have to do is say the word out loud to myself inside my head animal even in context at the end of a long sentence part of an entirely abstract conversation imagined in my head while driving where the winter wheat looks like tall green grass blowing and sweeping aside the uncertainty of fog for the definite transparency of the atmosphere i inhale before i say silently out loud to myself or you in me or my wicked mind i dig a lot of things that are uniquely human like metaphors and stories and music in other peoples languages but i am an *animal* and it only takes a split second for me to sense it as my lips move across the word in a soft dry whisp like a kiss across a chest with the sixth sense at the base of my brain reflexive reaction as if in response to a real live tangible touch that lights up every single cell and nerve in this worldly body and sends it into a tingling (conceptual) oblivion
you have no idea of the temptation that lies just underneath my skin to protect you at my own expense and quit writing right now because i learned my lessons well like a mantra from the time i could speak submit submit submit not so much physically because we’ll strip your will with the abstract whip and the binds that withhold kisses and bury you in wishes that will never be because this world is not a fairytale no matter how much you try to write in the spaces between your pain and that first hot wave of release that comes from letting go with all your might
like the spring that makes a hinge inside a hair barrette snap amid fine silky strands and comes undone only with the accompanying sharp finger pricks when the snake of tears that’s usually coiled in my throat has opened up to slink metallic elastic across my collarbone pressing not like a thumb but more like the gentle palm of a hand where it meets the wrist in that hallow known as the jugular notch turning to the databases never did make any sense in the search of stories about time these mysteries that return to burn themselves up like words that can’t be examined because i’ve always been fascinated with this idea of the black hole plot line that eats itself up since everything happens future past present all at once in a combustion of moments alit on fire and they only led me back where i knew the folklore is always waiting to see what the tricksters have to do about the issue so anansi bit my ass again with his ability to do the impossible and win all the stories but still spill all the wisdom so there was just enough of a little bit in all of us for me to see that timelessness is on my side and surely there must have once been a time when we made love i know the only reason i can’t remember how the skin at the small of your back and behind your knees and on the palms of my fingers under the hair of your neck feels right now is because it hasn’t happened yet and that’s okay too because every unrequited lover has her day on both sides of the coin and if everything is never happening at once i guess i actually can just sit right here and wait
forever if need be
hush now quietly can you hear it the sound of the coming week i think on wind maybe whooshing like the sweet sound of deadlines past and lists of things to do to keep the roof overhead and the magic of mundane routines yoga breathing eating swinging along as if nothing ever really changes my love
even though i’ve never believed in happily-ever-after-endings recently i’ve spent enough time docked at lee resting tethered to reality to know that what i always ever wanted was someone to take me by the hand and say you and me “kiddo” it’s only always us against the rest of the cold harsh world and i will never let go as we sail around the planet in a vessel with an airtight cabin where none of the instruments warp and we can make ourselves into the perfect pair of gypsy souls collecting moments forever and meanwhile i am snared adrift waiting patiently yet in a snit for whatever happens next
i want to sit and look for stray gray sideburn hairs all day while you read each and every line in each and every chapter and smile at me again and again and again no matter how shyly i will collect a hundred million thousand stolen glances peaking out and piece them together into a richly drawn symbol to gaze upon and pretend I know what it feels like to be in your embrace
