Romance

JusJoJan 21 – Lioness

It’s a fact of science: bread cools quickly when it comes out of the toaster.

But she sits facing him at the kitchen table at breakfast time and thinks,
Look how weak he is that he allows his bread to cool before he butters it
I used to not see this about him
When we were first married I was so infatuated with him
Now he talks to me about ordinary things
Now I can see that he is less than ordinary – he is weak.
How could I not see his weakness back then?

A week later she had an affair.
A month later she was divorced.

Years have passed and she cannot find that perfect love again that she had at one time with her husband
She grows old but not regretful
For he was weak.
And weakness cannot be tolerated.

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JusJoJan 11 – Wasted

atsushisakurai.duumal1

Your songs

make wasted

look damned

good.

 

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 Post on your site, and join Just Jot it January. The rules are easy!

1. It’s never too late to join in, since the “Jot it” part of JusJoJan means that anything you jot down, anywhere (it doesn’t have to be a post) counts as a “Jot.” If it makes it to WordPress that day, great! If it waits a week to get from the sticky note to your screen, no problem!
2. If you write a JusJoJan post on your blog, you can ping it back to the above link to make sure everyone participating knows where to find it.
3. Write anything!
4. Have fun!

 

The Game

It’s a game we play

Where you wear the suit

and tie

and I wear the dress

and heels

At our favourite restaurant

Candles and romance

And I pluck from your fingertips

luscious slippery oysters

and place on your tongue

fruit so sweet

And we laugh

and kiss

and drive through the dark

of night

to the warmth

of our home

Where I pluck at your tie

and you slip off my heels

And we drink deep red wine

from crystal cups

And we roll

and spin

And the winner

comes last

Tattoo

She walks along at a decent clip

The snow whips her hair

And stings her face

Like the tattoo of a wasp

being drawn, wings spread

across her cheekbones.

But she would rather imagine

it is the five o’clock shadow

of her lover

sandpaper-scratching

her face as they kiss.

As she walks he approaches

His face, with his time-expectant growth

Lightens the wind’s swirl

And caught up in his embrace

The tattoo of waspy stinging snow

Succumbs to naught.

delicious

i should have known
you would burn

your 350º heat
sizzled

beneath my
fingers

but i couldn’t
resist you

you wanted me
me!

who was i to
say no

here i lay
baking

singed at the
edges

and all there is
left

of you are
crumbs

and a photograph
and

my sugary delicious
memories

of your hot hot
love

Dear Future Lover

How are you? I’ve been feeling a little down lately. You see, I miss you terribly. How is that, you ask, when I’ve never even met you? Well, you see, it’s easy.

I have this dream about you. It’s a recurring dream, though I don’t have it often enough. In it you love me more than life itself, and I love you the same way. You want to be near me all the time. You would even give your life for me!

With this in mind, I wrote a story about you. In our story (because I’m in it too, of course), there is an evil witch who wants to pull us apart. She attaches herself to you like a leech. In one part of the story I even tried pouring salt on her! But all it did was stung her eyes and she punished YOU for it. It was horrible. I knew I couldn’t try such a thing again.

So I waited. And I waited. And eventually … she died! I know it wasn’t very nice of me, but I rejoiced. So then you and I finally got back together and we lived happily ever after.

Did you like my story? I hope so.

Now all I have to do is meet you. Do you think our real story will go the same way as my made-up story? I hope not. Please promise me you’ll stay away from witches, both until we meet and after.

Thank you.

Just writing to you has cheered me up a bit. I’m going to close this letter now, but before I do I just want to say I love you. And I can’t wait to meet you.

Yours truly,

Imaginaria

xxx

P.S. I might write to you again, so don’t forget to watch out for another letter.

I.

If Only

Previously posted on The Community Storyboard, retrieved with love…

I have in my mind
A cookie cardboard cut-out
Of a man-shaped you, in a tailored suit
Your eyes a-fire with the knowing
And your hands hiding their itch in your pockets

You find me where I am most susceptible
Knee deep in my life-mire
Gasping my final hope
And just the sip of your breath
Through your teeth as you realize

I’ve seen you before
In a dream and you, me

You offer me your hand
And obliging I scratch-grasp
Your smile makes me beautiful
The cloth of your suit against my burdened cheek
Smooths my thoughts

In my mind you take me
To heights unfathomed and to lows where I look up
and all I see is your hair-shadowed face
You bless-task me with your wit
You stroke my every need

Your breath shall be my be my conception
Your grace shall be my calm
Your laughter shall be my saviour
Your warmth shall be my pyre
Your love shall be my cradle

I’ve seen you before
In a dream and you,
If only

brilliance

my smile refracts the glimmer of your heart
and radiates, shining amongst all I meet
my love for you cannot be contained
the sunshine that warms me from within
and brightens my universe
begins with your adoring eyes

Incarnation

Music as timeless as the earth
A breath taken and released as a single drop of sunlight
Absorbed by my soul is my gift from you.

What shall I promise you now?
That a new forever will we live
In each other’s hearts?

You dress yourself now as an angel
But I know you as a man
Who shits and creates love like the whisper of a baby’s sigh.

Are we the product of our own past creations?
The children of our children’s children?
Or are we the result of a vow, a pact, a fiery ember, crushed and smoldered in a watery grave?

I shall offer you a word
A syllable of dust and of hope
A chalice of ashes and a flask of life.

I shall offer you
me
May you treat me with care this time around.

L.G. Hill
July 1, 2005

The Love Coaster

Love is a roller coaster, isn’t it?

Clunking up that first hill, speculating, is the feeling mutual?

And when we reach the top we breathe, for only a second

because the rush, the onslaught, the weightlessness

the centrifugal force unites us in the curves and we are thunderstruck.

Then worry sinks in as we rise and fall and rise and fall

– will we stay on the tracks?

If we come loose, it’s over…

Before we know it, our car has come gliding back to reality.

Do we hold hands after the Love Coaster stops?

Do we endure, content in remembering how our wild ride began?

Or do we relinquish this titillation for the next?