The compass of your heart

I remember

The void in my heart

Perhaps

As you grew in grief

You dreamed me

Into existence

For I surely

Had no substance

Not a morsel of joy

Felt real

Til you enveloped me

In the compass of your heart

And set forth

Due West

I clinging to your drift as

Stubborn snow will keen

Impossible they said

Until seeing with their own eyes

Things previously disbelieved

I had never believed

Until you lifted me from obscurity

And touching my chin

My throat

The unsaid hurt

Resting on my breastbone

Like a wounded bird

You reached in and

Struck the match

And I glowed

I glowed

With your regard

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Things said in the rain

I remember when for once, for the only time in my life

I meant everything to one person

And that person was you.

Now it doesn’t rain very often

As if the world we live in, has acted out what we feel inside

Dry and forgotten

Though I

Can never forget

And when I want it to hurt

In a way that scouges and burns

Even beneath water

I let myself go back in time

And you wash over me

All the grief of

Things I can only say now

In the rain

Loud enough to drown out

My raw cries

Heavy and wet so no tears are seen

Rain makes my pain invisible

Erasing need to close doors and scream into towels

I can stand outside in front of the world

And things said in the rain

Will never be caught

They will slide from my tongue

Down my wet emptying surfaces

As they howl and beg for you

As they replay closure over and over

Ripping off nearly healed scab

Like a needle desperate to play

A song without words

Though there were so many

Things said and nothing stuck

It simply washed away

Taking with it

The part of me grown in your light

Never thinking she could be adored

Or matter, as once beneath you, she did.

Now I hardly recognize

That young woman

With her dream and her search

For rain

And for you

Winding up the car window

Our wet hands touching

On different sides of glass.

From you …

two woman kissing each other
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Night isn’t dark enough to cover my shame

How I reveal myself to you from these coils

So long hung to rust with ashy regret of inaction

I once watched my life on the movie screen and when it ended

We all toasted the director, who wrote our existence

On the inside of his scarred wrist.

Do father’s ever know their daughters?

Grown in earth before lightning strike

Do lovers ever desipher the real reason for silence

Resting like a found feather on dusty counter top

So easily blown to floor.

Night isn’t dark enough to cover my need

To emerge un-whole and starving from grief

And feast on you until all blood is drunk.

I grow ill with desire

It boils my want the color of bones found beneath rocks

And thunder reminds me

Without you

I am always

Alone.

Lift me then, into your mouth, make a meal of my belief

There is only one go around on the Ferris wheel

Afterward

You smooth indigo sheets free of perspective

lying as flat as hope without wind to bouy them apparent

As I am diminished in anything without you

iris petals growing ever soft against their hard stalks.

Night isn’t dark enough to cover my words

Spoken like strokes over your ebony crown of thorns

My unquiet heart desirous of posie finds in you

A glittering creature, unreachable in your poise.

My feet are sore from running and my heart hammers as

A hundred drums pound the surge of us

Your devour and my claim are loose souls finding substance

In the fever of each other against

Belting storm, whipping its wrath like enthusiastic penetant

Eager to evoke blood

Mine and yours on scald of dawn

From you …

Night isn’t dark enough to disguise my love.

Burning without fire — @ hijacked amygdala

Last night I scalded myself Mama and as the boiling water ran down my arm I saw you through the pain and you were smiling and everything was wrong how you are alive and yet gone, how you exist and yet don’t, how I was never right and somehow always mistaken If I don’t come […]

via Burning without fire — hijacked amygdala

Featured Post: Tipping the Velvet – Candice Louisa Daquin

My interpretation of the more erotic side of the incredible book Tipping the Velvet by Sarah Waters. One of the best writers out there. Join Christine Ray in these brilliant author prompts by checking at Whisper and the Roar daily.

Whisper and the Roar

“Watch me tonight won’t you?” she said like a little girl and I nodded my head as she walked through to the staff quarters of the club and I carried on straight ahead and showed my laminated membership card.

“How are you Lana?” the club’s cashier smiled a red lipsticked smile at me and gave me a kiss on the cheek “Doing good Josie, doing really well” I said, sounding more courageous than I felt, but at the same time, feeling every bit as good as I’d stated.

“Glad to hear it!” she chirped, her bauble earrings swinging, and I walked on through to the velvety darkness of the bar area, and found myself a corner table, close enough to the stage but set apart from other tables, where it was darkest.

“you always sat where it was most dark” a familiar voice said and I wheeled around to see…

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Featured Post: The Well of Loneliness – Candice Louisa Daquin

One of Christine Ray’s excellent SMITTEN prompts @ Whisper & the Roar – my take on one of my favorite books. The Well of Loneliness.

Whisper and the Roar

Getting ready for work
Bag on the table
files
filed
long 10 denier
black hose
so fine
makes legs look like swans
dark and sleek and endless
the way you’d like to be
dressed in costume
the person you want
gradually painted on
first the eyes, dramatic and smoky
lips full and plump the youthful devotee
cheeks pinched and shy
complexion covered with dye
hide the flaw
hide the truth
hide yourself
be someone new
getting ready for work
never ready for life
picking up habits of preservation
in the early morning light
what works here
what shows there
a fallen hem
a lost pin
shoulders too large
hips too narrow
breasts lurching to breathe out
an invert triangle
wiggling into yourself
trying to get out
of being legitimate
the role of responsibility
both necessary and loathed
a little toast, a little wine
the rattle of pills
medicated time
protecting…

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Featured Post: The Price of Salt – Candice Louisa Daquin

This week featured on Whisper and the Roar. The prompt for the incredible book The Price of Salt (also known as Carol) by Patricia Highsmith. The original story is by The Brothers Grimm and is about a King who rejected his third daughter because when asked how much she valued him, she said as much as salt.

Brave & Reckless

The King, he didn’t approve
Of willful girls who refused
His games of spite and egotism
Her value of salt became a breaking point
Of banishment and shame piled on top
Had she said … Gold. I love you more than riches and pearls
I value you more than saffron and silk
He may have forgiven her trespass
But salt? So plain and unadorned
Like her as she stood before him, making her case
For some it takes an actuality to contemplate
The true worth
Something she’d always known
When he ate his meal and roared at the cook
What kind of muck do you call this ??
They owned they used, not a pinch of salt
Without taste, lacking all substance
He realized late
The value of her chosen condiment
For gold builds nothing and salt is life
She is gone now and he has only his former ire

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