Hold this note long. Play it loud
to sound out
reverberation of the past.
Win me over.
tripped over my own heart and now the knees of my desire, skinned and bleeding.
might do the trick.
I have been a slave
to the faulty
mirror of love; returned vacant stare with vacant stare,
emptied of all I thought I knew,
over a man that was not real.
Cheated myself out
of every hope.
baby mouthing everything,
to taste -
You've proved persistent,
unremitting, held out, priming,
prodding, kept calm in the fever pitch peak of all my fear.
I want to
your lung capacity.
Can you survive the swell of my uncertainty; decode my
cryptic messages, balance the act between
my cleanest meanings and
all attempts at
Will you break if I drop you?
Can you keep me coming back for more?
Will you lunge
through my limits, veer past my inhibitions,
plunge into waters
deep to save me from
grip of misandry's tentacles?
How long will your promises last?
Your garden grow?
Are your vows perennial?
I am sectioned off.
Can you piece my roving instincts back together?
collage from the amalgam of my inclinations?
I want a
lot and I need still more. I have
hues you've never seen
between the black and white drone of dying words.
Revive me. Change my thinking.
Show me the strength of your hands.
Are they tender
Can they cradle my undertones, read me like braille?
I have mimed what I should have spoken,
signed consent for you to see
but perhaps the least I could have done was whisper.
See, my veneer of
nonchalance is chipping and
I have nothing
up my sleeve. I've learned that I'm a novice
and you, an avant garde paramour.
You are ravishing in your
lavishing and I am empty handed, fad worn
trying not to
balk at new attire.
as I hone my skills
so I can play along. My tongue is dry from thrush
but my fingers work just fine
and I think
I'll find I'm capable of ceding. I ache like any
mother and can listen
like a friend, so creep like ivy up these bricks I've
built to keep you out.
me, baby. I am close to yielding but
need you to be nimble,
because I am running out
of time. I am aging
somewhat haughty; huffy,
high and mighty but softening with each kindness shown. Travail through
my raving, flailing protests and I'll
lay them down.
I want you
but I'm scared I'm broken.
my lack of need but maybe, I'm only talking
I've fenced off sentiment but there are slots in every story told,
these inconsistencies and if you could, forgive.
I'll confess to culpability but never grovel.
Notice my vices but praise my virtues
and if your
light is bright enough,
I'll hover moth
like in the night so you can catch
I'm split right through
the middle now,
Tread careful. Kick up gravel
so I can hear you come.
The Sunday Whirl