Let my hair rest on your shoulders,
As my skin touches yours,Like fingers fascinated by frosted windows, Etching stories of my desire as a vellum of the gambler’s debts to the men of numbers.
Whispering of all the blue moon’s since the beginning of this Moirai reckoning dipped in each eventide.
Feel the opacity of my hunger for only you in my throaty psalms of names between the desperation of frenzied taste and scented famine.
Empty all the final heedless murmurs just before bodies leave rosettes of love’s liquification on the edges of Aurora’s balmy infancy of beyond any and all of this.
This world is and isn’t ours to hold on to anymore.
Words: M(e.)Twilight Temple Tresses: a6a7
Songs of Seamlessly Stitched Sanity: https://youtu.be/Sn3-1kvv6u4
I don’t want to burden anyone with the weight of love anymore.
Caring for a minimum of 18 people a day does not allow much left to give.
How could I be anything but too much and not enough simultaneously?
How would I be anything more than Saturnine the days I should have slept more?
I’d love to be a second sun instead, leaving beams for reflection instead of all this lead swirled with flammable gases.
But it’s winter in my marrow sometimes, instead of some light to fade the rain.
And all of my words trying to sustain life before the rings of my discontent cost me all of it, forever.
Maybe I just need someone to hibernate with during the right seasons.
A large inch sliver of my wedding ring finger,
Lodged between razor blades.
A tinge of excruciation every time I bump it.
The blood that doesn’t stop until I seal it with the sting of black powder potassium ferrate.
And I get home to the internet connection again for the first time in 12 hours to claws again.
I’m stuck with nothing to say.
Stuck not explaining or caring.
Wedged between the commonality and the opposites
Trapped wondering if I should even bother because there’s a million other places and people calling me.
Tied living in doubt of my accuracy.
My bed seems closer,
Yet, less comforting and less confusing.
I just want to show someone all the places Eden hides.
Introduce someone to all the one of a kinds.
My words hang like gallows being near another slice of flesh today and how much more that imaginary one will out do the real one.
An eraser or a pen, a conversation or an idea, a rough beginning or premature end,
And a wheel of fortune spins.
Maybe I’ll buy a better body like every other American,
A new front door,
Then let just pretty fleeting things grace my floor.
Perhaps I’ll just lie on the soaked ground until this expired body finally lets my electricity go or I turn into a mountain.
Maybe one day I’ll be brave enough to show you the cosmic current.
Maybe I’ll admit it too myself too.
For now, it’s just always 11:11, or almost every other possibility.
And words slipped through songs on playlists just before you capture them.
Me, forever being seriously scared of you.
There was a time I would chase you.
One where I’d want to win so much I’d fold all my pieces I can tell you would adore before peacocking around in displays of a lesser love.
I’d flirt like an Eames Era harlot, victim, or assassin depending on the best to suit you.
These falseness fangs allude me most days now.
More human than ever.
And it just doesn’t interest me really. Not quite like getting to know someone’s bones or celebrating their victories over their loses.
It’s left me on other planets.
Or swimming in tesseracts far from the fingerprints of such a vain instant gratification world.
Left me in such solitude, I already so greatly admire and adore, I may just dissipate much like I appear.
So I leave it to everyone else to ask about what they need to know about me before just flittering back to the places stars are born.
I used to care about this more too.
I’d feel bad about owing someone something for their time or attention.
But it’s beyond me lately.
It’s my hair I’m growing to several feet of length for other dues or dedications.
It’s the only thing I can do after work for other people anymore.
Too many choices make me nauseated.
At the end of the day I’m going to choose my children first.
I owe them.
I made them. Kept them. My duty to keep them.
A lot of people depend on me, including my aging family.
I owe them also.
They keep me soft, taught me love, and make it worthwhile.
My career is attached to my deep seeded altruism.
It’s the art I’m living.
And I took an oath.
A real one with 150 of my classmates.
I’m not going to waiver, ever.
Not even if it’s killing me.
Ask my angry, pain laden knee.
I’m stern about these things if necessary.
It’s never about anything but those things first.
I have no needs that are as important as this.
I have very few needs other than the smiles my precious littles carry because I kiss them before bed every night.
If you’re interested, be patient or choose the blonde instead of this brunette.
I’m incapable of giving those two things up.
I tried once,
Almost took my soul as penance.
If you have none,
I’m definitely made of nothing to see here, move along kindly.
And I whole heartedly am sorry and not at the same time.
Maybe I’m just like my father,
Just like my mother.
I believe he holds all his favorite skylines in the recesses of his heart
A safe vibrant, little, large, brilliance given away by his laughter.
So, the clovers rise from beneath the cool earth.
I wait for the roses that grow from his sorrows, his doubts, his overthinking,
his words, his hold, his holy grins….him.
Bang. Pull. Repeat.
Sometimes I’m just a song already written.
The warmth will greet tomorrow,
Time will slip between hours,
And always may very well be the only words left to say.
from the creator of Free Verse Revolution
Only We Can Change our Life, No one Else Do It For Us!!
Reflections of the Sensual and Seductive
Exploring open roads without breaking the bank
How I escaped from my cocoon while running a business and raising two kids without completely losing my mind
Emotional musings- email@example.com
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