The Braids

Summer Solstice began this ritual of me and you
I sit quietly on the edge of
My long black hair separates in wet strands
The heat raises suffocating reason
Slowly I fold you into my hair
Twist and turn
Closing you in the narrow of this thought
Making a weapon for you later
My movement andante
With the meditation of you
It is mid-day afternoon
Climbing upon your tight sheet entrance
This door is closed for the day
Mine left open
My body making a dent in the pillows

I pull my hair
Remembering your loyalties
Wrap my tangle in your drunken whisper
I fall over into you
Pressing into myself
Where only I can reach and you warm
From a distance

Like All Good Girls Glory

You can find me any late afternoon
Shifting through papers
Sitting torn on the edge of a misplaced thought
Hands crossed trying
Talisman over talisman
Near last effort attempts
Hope shoved in the one more time pile
With sage possibility pending like checkmate

What does a girl like me do to make it through the tunnel?
Like the struggle part in the last chapter
Book II.
With a different ending this time
Like all good girls glory

I’m the day time floor watcher
With no trust and restless hands

I could learn from it
Build a make believe everything's alright castle
Observe the self
Learn again
How to walk in between the cracks in the pavement
I instruct myself
Breath and feign
Breath and feign
Breath and feign
All is well

This is todays Hollywood skunk life
With gold star sticker theory
Did you know you can make them yourself?
Like a press on tattoo kit
For marks to remember a time meant something
Or
A time misused

Driving Ice

The phone rings and I imagine you getting up from your chair in the next room and coming over to the phone. As you see my name light up in bright blue, you hesitate to pick up the phone. I know you want to but you choose to make me wait. Give me something to worry about. This makes me peel over in my fire.

This makes you feel something that you can't quite explain to yourself or anyone, but you like this powerful feeling. I admit that I like you feeling this too, that is why I keep offering myself up as a sacrifice. You never knew that you were a sadist did you?

Did you ever think for moment that perhaps you are doing everything that I ordered up with a red pencil. I want you to forget about me and then remember me, like you seem to do so well. I expect this, I demand it. I want you to ignore my letters, then pick and choose a moment for me. At least I know when you decide to put your finger on me that you have really thought long and hard about me. For this I bend over. For this I am here for you on my knees. Like you said you wanted me.

This feeling of being put on your hold leaves the excitement of your horrible beauty lingering for days. Weeks. Months. Please continue to make me feel this cold with your ice... then right when I am going to freeze over remind me again of why I love you with a warm whisper.

(((Art 01.)))

Something I like from the amazing Mike Giant.
http://www.mikegiant.com

A Scene From Our Notebook

I have come to accept that I will never have you like a cup of everyday morning coffee. What I do have is shoved down deep into the depths of me. On occasions I would read your scribbled letters, imagine you as I lay wringing your paper for a fresh drop of ink. I make fists out of loving frustrations. Crushing your ink strokes and paper between the patella. A shifting replacement of the lasting feel of you for this is the closest I will ever get to having you.