Tuesday 5/21/2019 11:07:00 PM

we are the compass. helplessly measuring the wind. we are the soil beneath the monsters' feet. tomorrow whispers. secrets. only skin can tell. we build our bridges with bone and blood. betrayed by distance. spoiled by conviction.

the tower sways in the storm. the candles tremble against our breath. the sparks stutter. the atoms collide. a chaos of moments roiling under our skin.

the fission of touch ignites. flesh erupts.

it's loud. always louder than it should be. those murmurs of surrender. as the end closes the gap. time on its tiptoes. choice in handcuffs.

the winter lingers. the cold decides us. in empty beds and broken kisses.

there is no beginning. no finish. only what is left.

Harlequin said...

Just finished up a leisurely soaking in your April and May posts ... lovely words and images. I think the one that is staying with me the most is 'the ambivalent thieves"... what a great phrase and sentiment.
Gorgeous work.

softermaniac said...

appreciate the feedback. thank you for reading.

Garth said...

First time here - followed from Harlequin's blog - this poem is sublime - love the dark edges.

softermaniac said...

thanks for visiting. appreciate the feedback. and thanks to harlequin for the link.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2018. All Rights Reserved.