Exquisite Body

damp thighs soak silk sheets

craving, impatient, unyeilding

this burning desire

a naked fevered rythym

touching,tasting,teasing

tangled and bare

deep in the warmth of my curves

no hands

no feet

only trembling hips

swaying, wild, gentle

belly to belly

pressing deeper and deeper

into the ocean of this love  

Ye Old Poetry

Sedated

I sit staring blankly at the computer screen before my eyes.

I cant even type straight

it doesn't matter

nothing matters now except

except that vague consciousness that I have grown so accustomed to

that state of mental lethargy that can only be reached with heavy doses of chemicals

self created, natural, man made, it doesnt matter

whatever makes the senses numb

dull

yet unwaiveringly acute

the tv chatters about nothing in the distance

blah blah bullshit and sugar

who knows

my mind is to ...  to care

theres supposed to be a word there

but i cant remember

cant focus

so tired, and its only three O' clock

sometimes twenty two feels so old

secret secrets

If I could peel back these layers and show whats inside, I would.
If I could open my mouth and tell you everything, I would.
Because I want you to know.
Because I want you to know me.
Because I want to feel you there.
Because I want to feel.
Never before have I spoken (written) these words, and never again will I speak (write) them.
This is for your ears (eyes) only.
Are you listening (watching)?

but only sometimes.

sometimes I wish i was a fish. with a memory as short as my attention span.
(that way I wouldn't have to remember how it felt.)
sometimes I wish i was a fish. wandering always in a world of blue.
(so I could swim so far away that not even my mother would remember I exhisted.)
sometimes I wish i was a fish. with no words to tumble forth from my fishy lips.
(so when you didn't ask me what was wrong, I wouldnt have to wonder why.)
sometimes I wish i was a fish. so never again would I have to spend my days wishing.
(and I could just drift away into the deep.)

don't touch the stove

eyes cast down, slowly rolling to the only part of me that I care to see. I watch my feet settle into the gravel, constantly reminding me that this is real.
dig my toes into my soul (of my shoes?) trying to find some sort of stable substance to hold on to.
I feel uncomfortable, the butterflies in my stomach burn to ash and float slowly upwards to settle in the deepest depth of my being.
dig my fingernails into my palms, fingers pressing hard, making half moons in my armor
shove my hands into the warmth of my pockets, grabbing fistfulls of satin. of restraint.
I hear my heart. strumming short. then long. then short again. as if sending out morse code.
whispers even when I choose to say nothing. singing my secrets to whomever will listen.

I'm a little tea pot.

she used to look like me, years ago. (You thought I wouldn't notice.)
i bet she used to laugh with you then, just like i do now.
used to look at you with that same mischevious grin that i bestow upon you today.
we even have the same eyes. (Or didn't you notice?)
and through these similarities I have realized that you do not love me. You love what you want me to be. Her, from a time long ago.
You, from a time long ago.
 A time when you were young. and free. and had not the cares that you do now.
You want what I possess. youth. freedom. the possibilties in life that have passed you by. You want to be free. from yourself. (You thought I wouldn't notice.)
and I, I remind you of her. and of yourself. and of a time that has long since passed.
and that is why you love me. (Or didn't you notice?)