why i can sleep.my eyes get tired. my mind crawls into all the spaces between words you didn't say, and my chest is constricted and i cannot breathe without your fingers to under the clasp on my back and find my pulse and say my heart is still beating.why i can sleep.
my legs and arms can never find comfort without your own to press me into the right spot on your bed and be my cocoon, and let me still feel in the morning.
it is my eyes, and but my eyes that force me, tired, with no more work for the night, when you leave me
with nothing else
some things you don't knowThis is the dress you never removed; your fingers never flickered at the nape of my neck, grazing the lace edges and pulling at a lazy bow. A dress you can't remember that's difficult to iron and has tiny stains only a mother would know how to remove.some things you don't know
Over there is the perfume, in the languid orange bottle, perched on the top row of my many squares of shelves, that, mixed with my skin, is how your jumper smelt like me
for days on the floor of your bedroom.
That is the
the wrong kind of wordsometimes I am quiet, and I don't know that I'm angry to wake at 5am without you, and it's not because you've taken my car for some gratuitous pursuit, but because I am alone on your bed and the heater is too warm for one person.the wrong kind of word
the words you might want, or perhaps not at all, are caught behind my tongue, and the vibrations can never be summoned because I do not risk words.
I want to think your eyes would devote and show me all of you, and all of me, but my fear of wrong words has always taken precedence over me.
shredI want to kiss you, hard, have our tongues dissolve like sugar particles falling from a cube and disappearing into their surroundings.shred
Then press against you, hard, have my fingers bruise your back and melt my body into your melting body until we're just a colourful puddle, mixed, and complete.
Atmospheric Diving Suit+Atmospheric Diving Suit
We are sitting in front of the television and you say the crickets remind you of your mother's ceiling fan, right before it died. A bunch of little zips and then a low
yawn. I've been trying to tell you that I no longer want to live. I have been hinting at it by saying odd comments,
little compliments, fantasizing during sex that we take
one daring vacation, skydiving, and I confess to the instructor that it is OK if he just forgets
how to do things, just this once. I tell you that skydiving seems ironic, some
uploading
--
"Look around you! We live in a miracle daily, take the picture in your mind deep child!" -0
Take this time, this freedom and solace to find the bliss in your life. and when it is time...grasp it and never let go.
--
To see more of my photography and for future uploads check my FLICKR, as I don't use dA as much.
I really love your writing style. Keep up the poetry! <3
--
98% of all Deviants are bad at math. If you are one of the 9% that's good at it, copy and paste this into your signature.
"Never take life seriously. Nobody gets out alive anyways."
Previous PageNext Page