Weight of the Moon

the soft glow peeking through the horizontal shades is somehow non-linear,
and I close my eyes,
sinking into the infinite shadows,
the weight of the moon taking residence inside me

I shiver,
a foreshadowed shiver,
one of cozy, downy feathers,
of curves and entwined limbs and warm whispers,
of puzzle-pieced pockets of warmth,
of you,
sliding in next to me

it’s so peaceful here,
in the shadows

here, I’m home;
I am the soft side of something strong,
the warmth of something fierce,
half of some crazy energy I can’t quite explain –
something as strong and as tranquil as the weight of the moon

-image via Flickr

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Mesmerized

she was mesmerized;
there was something about him that pulled her to him the way a diamond holds the light

he was down-to-earth,
funny,
compassionate

but it was much more than that –
he was quiet, yet confident,
passionate,
humble

he wasn’t afraid to show her how much he adored her,
wasn’t afraid to make a decision,
wasn’t afraid to fail

he wasn’t afraid to share of himself,
to be honest and hear honesty,
to say ‘I’m sorry’ when things went wrong

he made her feel safer than she’d ever felt,
and that made him sexier than anyone she’d ever met

-image via Pixabay

Take It or Leave It

don’t be angry;
I haven’t become someone else
in front of your eyes

the problem is,
you don’t want this to be me –
you have always had some idea of me
that doesn’t exist,
some set of expectations I can’t possibly
live up to

you have constructed some ideal based
on something inside you,
and you have seen what you have
wanted to see –
you have refused to see my truth

but it’s been so very exhausting,
and not very fair to have to pretend
all the time

you don’t know me,
but I’ve been right here,
all along

here I am –
take it or leave it

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown

Bruised

he was all teeth and muscle,
blades of white pinching at her gooseflesh,
sharp intakes of air heaving and leaving in labored gasps and moans,
his warm wetness closing in around the sting,
sucking so hard her eyes clamped shut

but she did not arch away –
she pushed herself further into his mouth,
welcoming the pain,
as famished fingertips dug into her back as if reaching for something he could not wait to unearth

in that moment,
she wouldn’t have minded if he drew blood;
he was biting her, devouring her

needing her

she would give all she had to give,
and she would take it all in,
all he had to give,
the needing, and the wanting,
and the desiring,
the unhindered exposing of his soul to hers,
becoming one

for, they knew,
in the giving and the taking,
in this most sacred exchange,
they would both feel stronger than they’d ever felt before

more

in the end,
she would be covered in bite marks,
scratches and ribbons of redness,
she would be rubbed straight to the bone with the kind of urgent exhaustion she imagined an addict felt between fixes

she would wake,
bruised to the marrow with him,
he a part of her, and she of him,
forever

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown

Little Things

I don’t wanna talk about the little things;
I have too many things to say
and not enough energy to say them

it seems so futile,
speaking in this hypothetical past present,
the tense of lost chances,
while these Groundhog Days days go on and on,
sticky and thick like syrup

I don’t want to talk about the little things,
so I hang on to shards of hope,
turning them over and over until my mind is smooth

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown

Infinite

as she nestled into the stubbled crook of his neck,
the prickle-bite tickle-scraping her forehead and the musky smell of wood and darkness hovering,
he spoke, low and flowing,
as if he had all the time in the world,
the words’ echoing in his chest tangible,
a reverberation of time itself against her cheek as he offered her a small, silvery sliver of his history,
of himself,
of love

and she realized in that moment –
everything is infinite if you have the patience

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown

Real

heaves and sighs finally slowing and eyes beginning to focus,
we lay entwined on the gray, satiny sheets,
damp and rumpled beneath us as we floated back to this plane,
and I couldn’t help but feel as if we’d evaporated,
two becoming one dense stratus,
a unifying blanket hugging the horizon and stretching to somewhere other,
some sacred place created by you and I where there my heart was able to reach the door that it had locked,
where yours blew in,
seeing the never-before-seen and knowing the unknowable,
knowing me,
and the two of us each knowing more,
becoming more than we were before,
becoming one

and I wondered –
will anything ever feel this real?

-image via Tumblr, original source unknown

Crystalline

how dare he?,
she asked herself, over and again,
fuming, cheeks hot,
thoughts running circles,
round and round, in a spiral,
down, reluctantly,
to where the truth lies

after running head first,
over and over,
into a wall built of debris which she no longer needed,
after running and running into herself,
the anger she had stoked all day had finally burned away,
like waves of afternoon heat giving way to the horizon as evening falls,
and she was left with only one thought,
cool and crystalline and as piercing as a her reply had been:

he was right

image via Pixabay

Irrelevant

am I irrelevant?

I suppose asking that question
is like pissing in the wind,
when the answer is likely
to be twisted,
pointed back in my direction,
the wall of defense too thick,
when I’m left feeling peripheral,
in focus only when my voice is loud,
the squeaky wheel getting the grease,
a game of manipulation,
one I’m no longer willing to play,
when my thinking of you and hoping you’ll do the same becomes inconsequential,
exteraneous,
irrelevant

ash, blowing in the wind

-image via Pinterest, original source unknown

Lemonade

when life gives you lemons,
make lemonade,
they say

but what if life gave you
a lemon tree,
and the lemons just keep coming?

what if, try as you might
to take in stride each bearing of the fruit,
and you make and make and make
lemonfuckingade,
but you just get tired?

you tire not only of the lemons,
but of the knowing more lemons
are surely going to grow,
of the knowing that you’re just going to have to keep on making
lemonade?

I suppose you should accept
that this is your tree,
and it’s yours to harvest whatever
may come from it,
whatever blooms from the manner
in which you fertilize it

but sometimes,
it just sprouts unexpectedly,
and you just want to throw lemons

look out