The visceral unease between genders …beauty that evokes incomplete phrases, erotic whispers and dream romances sublimated by acknowledging muses.
Their distinct faces ripe with wry condescension cruel–dismissive eyes crystalline blue as the shallowest reefs where wealthy tourists lallygag like sea lions in the sun bronzing themselves for reflections caught in mirrors and pupils wide with dope, desire and amyl nitrate…
The one who stole my love elicits corrosive worry– feelings of sickly inadequacy when she laughs and loans her flesh to the uninhibited hot nights and indiscretions of lust.
Yet, I ponder her lascivious compromise: appreciative of this vast carnal kingdom, paradises made by prefabricated design bodies enslaved to their addictions and nowhere before me a patch of wild to tend with sweat and earnest toil or furrow deep with bulbous seeds, fresh blossoms pure: red, green, yellow, purple, gold all grown into starlight sans vanity.
i'm a 42 year old writer and have spent the last two decades sifting through books in a variety of libraries all across the southern United States while writing poems, stories and novels and am only now standing at that precipice where i'm willing to share my work with the world. my single greatest fear with regard to writing is that what i've penned would waste someone's precious time.
Longing and wanting to be with the one you love while your heart breaks and shatters at the sight of his back gets further and further away days turn into weeks weeks turn into months and months into years so