From 22 yr old me

You can tell a lot about a place
Observing its relationships with clouds.
A village wears hers like a birthday shawl,
A city wears hers like a shroud.

The clouds above an empty plain
Always seem rather sullen,
As if there's not enough to see or do
And they'd rather be above an ocean.

Now the clouds above the ocean
Have a playful, mysterious air
Like a pregnant wife with a worried husband,
She's got a secret she's unwilling to share.



I wrapped myself in a veil of dreams
And let the sun melt them into my skin,
Leaving behind a slick layer of happy


Drowning in memories
Gasping for air
Seduced by the deep

Crawling for the surface
Reveling in the journey
Through the past.


Walking along the edge
Arms opened wide
Fingers trailing sparks
Through the midnight air

Head thrown back in joyous exaltation
Belly trembling with fear
Not knowing the destination
Breathlessly waiting for the fall.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Fucking Monsanto... FUCKING HUMANS!!

Is it terrible that my reaction to this article is an eye roll and a "No f'ing shit, Sherlock"? Good lord. Especially this part: But farmers sprayed so much Roundup that weeds quickly evolved to survive it. “What we’re talking about here is Darwinian evolution in fast-forward,” Mike Owen, a weed scientist at Iowa State University, said. There's a strain of extremely hardy coca plant growing all over Latin America right now that is almost completely resistant to any sort of herbicide except the most toxic. It's a strain that created itself in under 10 years, which is an insanely short period of time for a plant to evolve. Why did it do so? Because of the "War on Drugs". We sprayed so much Roundup throughout it's natural habitat that the evolution of the plant was spurred into high speed. We created a plant that we don't have the resources to destroy in an effort to look like we were doing something decisive. Fucking brilliant. Now the same thing i...
Read more

Ah, sexual dysfunction, my old friend...

I have a feeling I'm going to be appalled at myself after I write this out, but right now I haven't been able to stop an evil, smug little smile from creeping onto my face all afternoon. So, last night, this guy B came over. I've been seeing him off and on for about 4 months now. He's got some quirks that I find annoying, but for the most part our sexual chemistry more than makes up for that. One of the most annoying quirks is his tendency to bite. Hard. I've had bruises with perfect teeth shaped imprints from him. Now, I don't actually mind biting, for the most part. I like the contrast of sensation, between arousal and pain. And this guy knows that, and has taken too free license with it in the past. I've talked to him about it, and told him to go easier, to not bite so hard. And he listened, for the most part.  But last night, he bit me really, really hard just after I'd had a REALLY intense orgasm. And that level of pain transfered all that intense f...
Read more
It's so much easier to feel beautiful when you're alone. I wonder about that, sometimes. Of all the beautiful sex I've had, the best has been alone. Not the best orgasms, of course. The orgasms I give myself always feel a little flat. I can't feed on my own need, my own fulfillment. I only feel content, full, after I've lost myself in a lovers fruition. But beautiful... that only seems to happen in my own eyes. When I'm alone, I see the spill of my own hair across a pillow as I turn my face to the side, and it's art. I feel my own skin, silk. I pull my breasts out of confines of my bra, and the expanse of flesh doesn't feel ample, it feels right. Their size doesn't matter to me, only what they make me feel, and every inch of surface is waiting for my fingertips and nails. My hard little nipples aren't too big or too small. They're simply perfect points of sensation. I can touch them soft or rough, it doesn't matter. I do only what I wan...
Read more