Truth hinted at
there’s a ghost in the machine
she’s climbing out of her past, survived the worst
they hold up mirrors and shout
let it out, let it out
the she who is me
spread eagle, violate
who will she need to please to be free?
I watch her as I would a
lover who coming close is further apart
the darkness of hurt
a chocolate center to emptiness
her breasts are hard and warm like
lost thoughts in my hair
we weave a strangeness over one another
her fingers inside me and then
words perfumed in the air
promises were said and broken
the bed lays untouched and I would wish I’d been
bruises act like kisses and kisses are too deep
your tongue goads my sleep
when I said no you took and ate
your fill, then with moonlight cutting
curtains blind in silver
I see the outline of sin and pleasure
how pain is curled in little leisure
the first strike, sharp lines, leather belt
hands around my neck and down my throat
marks left on marks, growing roses in darkness
you make a hand print of the child lost
blood in water, sheets and cries
who will clean the absolution and who will
witness the last time?
I gave you what I could, it wasn’t
full it wasn’t even good
that was all there was
empty roads, night time rain, ebony on asphalt
lay me down on thorns
paint me a picture of torment
here’s my proffer, my scorn
for not being able to keep a secret
pluck a pin, suck it in, there it sprouts
savage love, ruins the innocent
pain comes in snatches like dreaming
you relish the way I collapse after you’ve taken
this last suspense, rinse out, leave her ready
for the next punch, a wound so loud
her breath has vocals
I’ve been gone a long time now
only the sound of the past plays
gentle and low
as violence ebbs her sharp tongue
licking the wounded with happy sorrow
23 thoughts on “Gentle & low”
This is gorgeous and brilliant. Just like you! ❤
Such a lot of hurt and unhappiness in your poem.
Thank you for reading though! xo
Thank you dearest
You tell it straight from the shoulder, that’s why it’s painful.
You’re welcome, it was my pleasure to your amazing poetry.
The pleasure, the pain, and the heartache of remembrance. They’re all deep within this one.
Self without, self within
Not same, not different
Truth will out
Will wind labyrinthine path
Or shatter the walls
Slip through unguarded moment
Self present, self past, self to be
Paradox of happy sorrow
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
TheFeatheredSleep – Pain, Pleasure, Memory
Such painful, yet excellent imagery
Wow, such hot despair! The torture of past love does embed, doesn’t it? Well-done, Candice! ❤
I love the phrase hot despair!
Thank you so much dearest Bob and paradox of happy sorrow is so well put
Thank you beauty
I really appreciate YOU
You’re welcome, Candice!
I just remembered one of the members of the Kingston Trio talking about Russian Gypsy songs, that there are two kinds; The ones about how happy it is to be miserable, and the ones about how miserable it is to be happy. (Said with a terrible fake Russian accent.) 🙂
Oh I love Russian Gypsy songs and poems and fairy tails. This is incredible I didn’t know this at all now I have to read them again anew with this in mind!
I wish I could remember the song they were doing. Well, it was about 60 years ago. ❤
I couldn’t find the song I had in mind, but I did find this that you might enjoy. I saw him live once at a coffee house in Chicago (I think it was in 1963) where the opening act was a very young woman singer named Judy Collins.
HA! I found it! It wasn’t The Kingston Trio, it was The Limelighters. This posting of it leaves off the “happy/miserable” intro, but one of the comments points that out, so it is the one.
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