Words don’t come so easy when
Old hurts you thought lay buried
Rise with a thirst
And I wish I could have stopped you
Asked for a moment to think and grasp,
Form the words.
You are not him I know, you are not him.
I regret, having never known regret
Suddenly I do and
My regret is not having stopped you
Touched your face, let you hold me when
You sought to console and touch
And now I need
Your hands on me, arms brushing away
My sorrow for letting old hurts in.
Too late I call
And the words still did not come easy,
This is my first real try, like you,
With someone real.
As you say, all is well…but still….
This has taught me to regret.
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
spillway...
Breaking
That Honoria is my strength
Is the why, the how I broke my soul,
And when the mending began
There was debasement of self for sure
But like all things but the breaking of me,
I touched most phases briefly,
Contemplating, understanding, quickly…
Forming
Like no other before me…impossibly
I grew on the words of Dickens and Joyce
I grew without support or input
I grew all my instincts like seeds unique,
The forms that came through anyway,
Breathed in the air, sun-baked in.
Need
I am happy in the now knowing
I stand where I am at and in no other place.
Looking for the knowing of another
“What are you looking for, cher?”
-the other side of me, the similarities,
the…opposites that compliment.
Struggle
I struggle like the deaf girl in me knowing
She heard the word but the pitch is lost,
The nerves were simply weak, gave in.
Some things are just there on the tip of the brain,
Tip of the tounge, the fingertips the smooth back
His hair and trail lightly in the moment…
Cool touch on too hot flesh
And all the thoughts racing lay docile.
Existance.
And being in the moment alive.
That Honoria is my strength
Is the why, the how I broke my soul,
And when the mending began
There was debasement of self for sure
But like all things but the breaking of me,
I touched most phases briefly,
Contemplating, understanding, quickly…
Forming
Like no other before me…impossibly
I grew on the words of Dickens and Joyce
I grew without support or input
I grew all my instincts like seeds unique,
The forms that came through anyway,
Breathed in the air, sun-baked in.
Need
I am happy in the now knowing
I stand where I am at and in no other place.
Looking for the knowing of another
“What are you looking for, cher?”
-the other side of me, the similarities,
the…opposites that compliment.
Struggle
I struggle like the deaf girl in me knowing
She heard the word but the pitch is lost,
The nerves were simply weak, gave in.
Some things are just there on the tip of the brain,
Tip of the tounge, the fingertips the smooth back
His hair and trail lightly in the moment…
Cool touch on too hot flesh
And all the thoughts racing lay docile.
Existance.
And being in the moment alive.
Monday, March 21, 2005
She was frightened but curious.
He had warned her “next time…”
And her heart raced a thousand
Beats a breath. So unaccustomed
But desiring the learning to become.
Next time and she was drunk
He let her go, and then lunch
With a kiss that thrilled and that night
Undecided she pushed, pulled, invited
She was frightened but curious.
more to the story...
And the blood was everywhere, dripping like sweat from his pores only it wasn’t sweat, it was blood. No thought, only my need for him inside me anyway, one last time. “One last time, Cher?” but he was already turning, skin ashen beginning to scale.
He had warned her “next time…”
And her heart raced a thousand
Beats a breath. So unaccustomed
But desiring the learning to become.
Next time and she was drunk
He let her go, and then lunch
With a kiss that thrilled and that night
Undecided she pushed, pulled, invited
She was frightened but curious.
more to the story...
And the blood was everywhere, dripping like sweat from his pores only it wasn’t sweat, it was blood. No thought, only my need for him inside me anyway, one last time. “One last time, Cher?” but he was already turning, skin ashen beginning to scale.