spit, mixed with dirt – muddy words flow
Not just light, nor just dark
illumination draws your silhouette,
burned into the retina in my mind
the intensity
the raw energy when you, when we meet
It’s powerful we’re overtaken
Pushed and pulled
Stretched beyond limits
Broken into pieces to rebuild
Oh god to completely rebuild
I watched you, your body
glistening in sweat, your chest heaving
the sound of your breathing,
gasping for air, gasping for more,
the hours turned days,
when we would meet
not so many minutes,
when first our eyes
were averted, because we knew,
god how we knew
Life as we knew it would never
Absolutely never be the same
We ripped one another to shreds
Put back the pieces
A strip here, a strip there
then the temptation, the desire unbridled,
I can almost hear you screaming when we
when the thought of it ending, slowing
but not stopping when,
when you looked at me
when your touch,
not something I’ll ever forget
There remained after the fact
Torn edges whipstitched
A scar poorly drawn together
The ragged edges overlapping
But still somehow healing
In spite of everything, and one another
the illumination,
the shadows eclipsed you
taking you while I watched, licking my lips, while you, while the passion overtook you
leaving you,
the intensity never stopping
never ending, when we would meet,
whenever we, wherever the clock struck
making my heart skip,
then stumble and fall
Those parts of us, the best parts really
Made better, made now whole
A ragtag, mishmash of patches
Poorly sewn yet still
Still
Together we made it work
No longer looking elsewhere for
while you, licked up the pieces,
the best of the last
the best of what we, while we lie back
gasping after the last breath,
the last memory
of how the intensity,
ruled our lives
We were still able to lie back
On this patchwork quilt
We called Love and Life
©️bluerooster & tara caribou – 2018
livingforthemoon
Butterwell's Blog
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Jane's Lens
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Life Is Beautiful
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All of Me
Providing a voice for the voiceless. Poets, artists, writers...sound off! Grinding through the dumpster fire that can be life...possibly get published
Writing and Whatnot
It feels rather strange liking my own work, but this is an exception. If it wasn’t for the respect of my co-collaborator, I never would have done so. Thanks.
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Haha! I guess I see your point. It feels like reading someone else’s work, not mine.
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I agree with the fellow in the comment box above this one. He does do nice work, but I wonder if his blue feathers are really Denali Blue, or is he hiding something under them, being a Bird of a different Color?
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Hahaha! Hard to say, isn’t it?? I’m sure you could just ask the kind fellow himself, right?!
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Only if I had a split-personality, or tended to repeat myself. repeat myself, but that is just conjecture, isn’t it?
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