An unchanging skeleton template – The foundation of every self Is the same cascade of roots Mapped out in a blueprint, essential To the unfolding of a life.
We build costumes of ourselves around the frame work, Skins new then old then made new again. Or new then old then forgotten completely, New year, new me. But the old year, old me Still lingers silently – Hung on a hanger in the wardrobe, Hidden amongst the other worn and torn Uniforms of which me I’ll be today.
Today I may be washed and dried With the creases ironed and holes patched And sleeves attached, with rips repaired and Complete with a belt and a bow in my hair, But maybe tomorrow I will slip back into an old skin To be momentarily reacquainted with A memory, for the fun of remembering. I will cloak myself in a costume of my past self, Playing dress up in a skin and a mind once mine, And the wrong-er it feels makes my new self feel right-er. I will close my eyes and ignore the ill-fitting Tight squeeze, stretched straps, and snapped seams. For in a dance of vivid recall I remember: this, This is what it once felt like to be me.
Sleek body shining so glossy Curves so fine and so damn classy I bet you are the sweetest ride Built for comfort Let’s go full throttle And head got the summit As we peak with the wind blowing in our hair Show me your best and give me your flair I can show what a thrust really can do Ride baby ride hell for leather under the moon A hellcat in leathers we will both be humming soon.
Feeling absolutely lonely with hundreds around Unspeakable conversations Forgetful sounds Life could have been better if lived as a hermit Jungles, dark deserts No pretence, no permit Animals real friends Trees companions true Winds carry wishes Earth protecting you
Morning glimpsed behind a curtain shaft of light dancing upon a headboard dust motes alighting a stillness disturbed fingers slowly moving over warm skin mine for yours awakening to thoughts, desire curling around me and within, a band tightening every revolution intensifying every stroke a lover’s wish shattering restraint in a rush of sound a bitten lip the lingering mark of your possession
In this wafer thin world, My mirror holds together, Your palpable smile.
I live there somewhere, Buried; under warm hollow bricks, Dreaming and dreaming, Ringlets of flowers, raindrops of gold, And of you reading a blank page, Written one hundred ways.
Your name is a shape, Or a flower or a bird, Dahlia, Paloma or some rounded word, You are the poem, I the paper, You are as ivory and I a leper; Waiting to talk yet walking away quiet, Dismal of dark but afraid of light.
You smell of shade, Along a long lost road, Dressed like a farm, a sea of azure night, Auburn hair, and grey eyes bright, When did we grow, into this hour Of longing madness, Coiling itself through our hearts, Like creepers circling the dead elms?
It’s past midnight, here, And the waves are turning back, Humming an echoing ebb, of times Wept into single drop of chorused sunshine. Your bare back, Arched like waterfall, Rests upon my eyes; eyes Still yearning, along the crowded shore, One amongst many like many amidst more. All strangers to me as I am to you, In this tangible tremor of life.
Random musings; this pillow feels soft, Feathers abound, thoughts aloft.
There was an abandoned bench, In a corner of December, Where every story started, Afore her departure, Now nothing remains, there, here and everywhere, Nothing but holes, Inch deep, muddy and wriggling with worms.
Vibrant, Spreading love, Now cloistered deep And Melancholic, It Fluttered in fury, Darting at the grey cover, Slipping through tiny crevices, The icicles now with a dull sheen A Suffusion of warmth so radiant. Leaving a fiery trail on dreary grey,
The errant ray full of lively spright, A cavalcade of surging hope, Flaunting its golden shimmer, Consoling the dark surf , For all was not lost, Shades of dark grey, Luminous, Sublime, Surf.