Daughter: youDaughter: you never startled me with solid things like the sullen slamming of a door or a sharp word exploding from your mouth.Daughter: you
Instead your soft textures hardened into something firm and foreign, the silent half-moon of your face waxing toward me, now waning away.
I want to call out to you, but something about the thoughtful shadows curving under your eyes says there is nothing to say.
Consecrationshe waited almost eagerly for sadness to come into her life to steal in softly and slowly rinse small trails on her too-tight child skinConsecration
to gather at the corners of her mouth and eyes, to start the graceful cobweb of lifelines across her face
she knew it would weigh her to the ground like so many slick wet pebbles, roll down her from
Freudian Coffee DreamsSomewhere between awake and asleep that old coffeepot of my subconscious begins to squeeze out bittersweet drops of you - unwontedly splashing the surface of my mud-like dreams: muddied things, unwanted thoughts.Freudian Coffee Dreams
You appear in so many forms: a penguin a con man an acrobat, giving me the slip -
You leap impossibly from that old coffeetable to my couch where I sleep and you are kissing me kissing me kissing me
as though you never left.
BruisesSitting carefully on your shin is one, identical in spirit if not in shape to the one quietly resting on my hip. Much like shared scrapedBruises
knees from summer, you know that I delight in seeing your bare skin and remembering: foolishly beautiful, shared badges of stupidity blossoming through broken blood vessels, healing silently somewhere on our bodies.
It's my turn**It's my turn
These sentences will be coherent
even if I am not always. You will
find them elsewhere; perhaps hidden
amongst my eyelashes. Shadowed
away like those forgotten diaries I
leave beneath my bed and in your
ar
phasingan obelisk in the distance glows in the circle of the sun slowly entering telophase I'm there searching for everything I already havephasing
all my smallest beginnings.all my smallest beginnings
Your first stanzas were always too clear - I could see through to a break in the page where you
dropped a thought, or cut a line. The flame of a lighter cut thin paper pages:
browned and crisped their edges
to fringe, then left the rest in
tiny piles of ash, shavings
of words I no longer wanted.
My little fires and your little sparks destroyed worlds.
.
Wow.
Optimism
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smile on my face and an air guitar rockin'.
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He loved his words best, and I loved mine.
=DailyDeviants has featured you on August 25th, 2006 for the Writing Gallery.
[ =Timbo1 ]
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*YOU ARE TAGGED!*
RULES: The 1st player of this game starts with the topic " 6 weird habits/things about yourself" People who get tagged need to write a Journal about 6 weird habits/things; as well as state this rule clearly. In the end you need to choose the next 6 people to be tagged and list their names. Don't forget to leave a comment that says, "You Are Tagged" on their deviant page and tell them to read yours.
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He loved his words best, and I loved mine.
--
"you remind me of some nineteenth-century poet"
~rayaneaj [link]
This is a pictorial illustration of me throwing chemicals at your heart.
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He loved his words best, and I loved mine.
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