Tag Archives: breathing

the earth drips with moisture

i breathe you out
the way i breathed you in:
musky, silent, imperceptibly sweet,
mingled with rain,
your veins carrying raindrops
straight from the sky
into the heart.

i cup my hands,
pool the torrential outpour in them,
arms outstretched
to the god of thunder
and his throne on olympus;
and i imagine
you cupping my breasts.

the hands feel warm and soft,
tropical islands in the sea of desire,
holding me in the near-darkness.
the earth drips with moisture
and i drink the rainwater
as an offering
to love.

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since before i loved you

since before i loved you,
i dreamt of your eyes:
two slices of blue gulf
stripped along the horizon,
glistening
with a million years of rain.

i wanted them before i knew you,
i’m sure.

only they can penetrate me
with the force of a thousand burning suns.

i can feel them on my lips
through the sound of your breathing.

i love therefore i am.

———————————

sometimes i find it tough to show you that you’re the only one that matters in this life. and here you are: here i am.

54. blinking daylights

certain things hit me with a strange ferocity. different velocity, acceleration, speed, but they are have one thing in common -somehow they wound me gently, taking care not to hurt too much or break more bones than will heal naturally given time and care.

it’s often words. soft, sometimes inaudible, but always taboo.

like the wednesday past, when i met your past love and she told me of the things you and her did, the way your breathing would take on an animalistic quality, as if the lion i know in you was roused, the way your face would contort at the end of it all, the way it made her laugh.
and then there was the way she asked about what we have done. and i told her. why wouldn’t i? let the vulture take its prey and feast on it. we all need nourishment of some kind and i guess my nourishment was hearing it all out in the open. everything has it’s price and well, she’s only me in retrospect.

those little things are enough to drive us insane, but i think we ought to face them head-on. that way we are the hunters and not the hunted.

and then there was this morning and a text from you telling of your time in france and how, by chance, you ended up sleeping only meters away from your parents and their squeaky bed last night and the night before.
and i don’t want to fill in the gaps.
my parents wouldn’t.

but we are all different, non? my morals are not yours. my horror is different to yours. ukrainian normality does not always collide with the french, i know that. you laid there in silence, but me, i’d get up and go to the bathroom, garden, i’d go out.

and suppose that’s us in twenty or thirty years time. does it scare you? it scares the blinking daylights out of me.

but what do i know of fear?
maybe i ought to go to war.

so here’s my rebuttal: we do not see things as they are, we see things as we are.

sometimes i wish to hear your voice…

sometimes i wish to hear your voice:
the soft cacophony of sounds,
your steady breathing interrupting
toungue’s quest to place me in your mouth
each word in lurid reverberation
it’s vowels readily astute,
acute as angle door makes
before closing /

like a new bed or, if you’d rather, wardrobe
i want a van to carry me that voice
as i recline half-open on the floor
i want a man to knock upon my door
and give it to me, there, then, no strings attached,
merely a parcel with a part of you /

if only you knew

sometimes i wish to hear your voice
but daren’t ever let you know /

in our Father’s grace

Blunt metal zip opening a whole new world
With
Sounds of three letter words shining through exclamations
As if to beckon God our Father closer
With
A mantra of his name 

The organ’s nothing but a guitar strumming somewhere
Behind the pew
The first three chords of Ave Maria
Or the last three;

Were I to ask, you would agree
That it’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard
Though it’s not played all that well. 

That music carries nothing but the breathing of your prayers
That I should never stop.
Composed, I stumble into your Holy place
Still humming hollow melodies in our Father’s grace.