I’m lonely and I miss you and it’s ridiculous because you’re not mine to miss

Yet even still there are

Ghosts of your lips upon my wrists
Shadows of your teeth grazing my thigh
Echoes of your voice in my ear
How we climbed our peaks, shouts reverberating across my hills as you plowed my valley late into the night

Whispers of your fingertips sliding across my hip
Stains of your handprints crisscrossing my breasts
Ashes smeared in trails along my throat
Reminders of your burning tongue, pressed-in memories hidden away that somehow burst open without my permission

My fingers itch to dial your number
My heart pounds to hear you say my name
My tongue dances behind my teeth aching to say the words: I love you, please come rescue me, won’t you hold my tears for safe-keeping

Surely, though, you knew all that already and that’s why I remain here

Always alone

©️tara caribou – 2018

27 thoughts on “Fossils

  1. Oh that feeling. That impatience, that anxiety, that constant circling of what you know you should not do but that alone makes it all the more attractive. Brain working overtime, flashing you every kind of prompt that there is just to get you to budge, trying to avoid any just makes it stronger. A true test of will.

    Also, liked the double entendre there with the plow. You can use a plough to prepare a field for harvest, or, in the case of “your valley” it may also be used to dig down for forgotten or buried treasures.

    Also also, “Ashes smeared in trails across my throat.” Yes.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes. I did have a triple meaning in the plowing. I tend to do that. Have masked layers of meaning in my phrases. Some dig deeper or lift the corner to peer beneath. Some merely look at the surface. I appreciate either view, honestly. I try to be fairly selective in my wording.

      Mud and earthy things appeal to me… what can I say?

      Liked by 1 person

  2. Let me try again, this time with a clearer head, so I don’t sound like a bumbling moron trying to piece together a halfway coherent thought.

    There is a clear movement here: it’s not just that the ghost of memories is just “there.” It’s not standing in the corner of your mind, it’s moving into you and through you, triggering memories that are both faint (with the descriptors being “echo”-like) and pronounced. It isn’t “just” a ghost, it is the constant call, the constant movement – urge.

    But then there is the line I noticed before: to dig for buried treasures (inside you); to inter a treasure or perhaps a relic of a bygone age (inside you); and then there is sex, of course; but also emotional digging, with the plough leaving its mark, a reminder that something once dug deep beneath the surface – perhaps leaving a scar on the land.

    Ashes smeared in trails along my throat – because it reminds me of cigarettes. I know there’s a line after it, it just struck me more.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Yes. Precisely. Not a ghost that haunts or lurks in the shadows. But an active, nearly-living creature stirring and swirling up eddies of thought and passion and longing.

      Certainly, one who could have left such an indelible mark upon her heart would have also spent many a night soul-searching and treasure-digging her deeper gems. Those long conversations remaining an echo in her ear. The arguments, the fights, the passionate love-making, whispered fears and tentative dreams.

      Also the reason I named it Fossils. Tap-tap-tap her open and see the rich history within which tends to remain hidden, and while long-dead, perhaps also quite beautiful in her own way.

      Liked by 1 person

  3. Ah, something everyone can attest to. Those feelings manifest in all of us at some point. Loneliness is a stone in our soul, heavied by the weight of wanting.
    Beautifully written as always, you always managed to pull the reader in and surround them in the moment. Nicely done.

    ”Power is being told you’re not loved and not being destroyed by it.” ― Madonna

    Liked by 1 person

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