I run light fingertips all over you,
imagining my touch has power to
transfer your hurt to me instead.
Your scars, tattoos, wild softness covered in
light shadows & dark temptations,
heart squeezed
like giving birth,
except without the raw, screaming,
white hot, touching the sun
& burning up
pain.
I wonder if you feel my touch
stretching out across dim lit streets,
over parked cars
& ivy covered walls;
seeking you out.
Your breath in my ear, then my mouth;
desire like smoke across blackened glass.
Dusty books; shabby & well loved
form cryptic clues
as to your character,
as though you’d stepped from the pages
or assimilated the ink into
your blood.
Doubting your existence,
but your pain is so real;
sharp, biting, fresh;
you are bleeding bleeding.
I make you laugh
with wild rambles,
life a sorry shambles;
I can ease it for a moment.
Foundations of eternity,
though built on shaky ground maybe.
If it crumbles away,
I will remain
-
Author:
rebmasters (
Offline) - Published: July 29th, 2021 03:29
- Category: Unclassified
- Views: 14
- Users favorite of this poem: L. B. Mek, Saxon Crow.
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Comments2
wow, your poetic voice is becoming so prominent
what a joy, to watch an artisan - strive
to hone his poetic passion..
keep growing dear poet, soar free
and thank you, for sharing your journey!
Aw thank you so much. I've been writing so much lately - just pouring out to the point I get no sleep, but with no sense of craft, just a wild abandon. I'm very thankful for your comments ❤
P.S. 'his poetic passion' - I'm glad my gender remains a mystery 😉
2 more comments
I say it time and time again. I could read your poems all day Reb and never get bored
Aw thank you so much my dear ❤. It's funny, but when we consider why we write, there's no real answer; it's just a compulsion maybe. But for someone to find some emotional resonance within the garbled words that I use to (fruitlessly) convey some sort of meaning is a truly wonderful thing. I hope you know that your comments mean a lot to me xx.
I know exactly what you mean. I love how peope interpret my work into something that they can relate to rather than what I am trying to convey. It makes me chuckle
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