by blinding me you have sensitized my surroundings. you breathe in my ear and my skin reaches for the air; gooseflesh tingles, lights a fire in my heart. the ground beneath me trembles, or so it seems. i feel you around me. i know you’re there. and then, suddenly, your mouth is on mine. your tongue licks my lips.
i need not light; when you are here i have everything.
this post is part of socs: http://lindaghill.com/2014/11/14/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-november-1514/
“Your ghost haunts me, like a shadow in the night.
“For the things I couldn’t do for You, for the warnings I tried to give You,
“and the signs You missed…
“I wanted to scream out!
“I wanted to touch You,
“But You couldn’t feel me there by Your side, aching,
“aching to convey the message.
“I could hear You calling. I could hear Your breath, ragged and painful.
“I wanted to comfort You but,
“try as I might, You couldn’t feel me.”
“Now I sit in the dark, trying to make sense of it all.
“I miss You. I miss Your presence.
“I am Your Angel.
“Always by Your side.
“Your ghost, it haunts me,
“You should be alive.”
nights
when i cant be bothered
to capitalize or apostrophize
i just wantwish
to be curled up on the couch
in your arms once again
going down
for hours
to sleep beside your faithful snores
your heat
and to wake to the pulsing
of the alarm
rocking
out the 69s
and 70s
and then
youre gone once again
leaving behind your scent
and me
without as much as an apostrophe
or a care to pinky a shift
after a long, hard, hot day at the office
i just want to lose my briefcase and
flip
off my shoes
p
e
e
l
off my dress
and then…
But you’re home. And you’re watching tv with a beer
The condensation drip
ping
from the edge of your bottle onto your white boxers as you
tip
it in my direction in a gesture of negligent cheers
there was a day, long a go when it was you coming home
all wet from the
rain
and i, lounging with my white wine on the couch in your boxers and nothing
else
your umbrella drip drip dripping on the floor unheeded because…
there are better things to do
always
Busy things to do and not enough drip
ping
After a long,
hard,
hot
day.
I knew the second I saw you that you would be mine. You might say it is cliche, but it’s true. My mind immediately raced to our wedding day – that I would place my ring on your finger and that in the spectators at our marriage day would be four or five of my ex-wives, bickering and scratching one another.
Catcalls from the orchestra section would be drowned out by the love, ringing in our ears and bells would tinkle above us. Oh the gloriousness of our child-bearing years! Our first-born would look just like me, or perhaps my sixth ex-wife, as by then I would be fooling around on you because you put on a few pounds from the many desserts I demanded you bake for me.
Now, my love, I stand in line at the seventh cashier from the right where I’ve followed you with my shopping cart from the frozen food aisle. I need only touch your arm.
We were meant to be. I know it in my heart.
This stream of consciousness fiction piece is part of SoCS. Click on the link and join in the fun!
http://lindaghill.wordpress.com/2014/09/26/the-friday-reminder-and-prompt-for-socs-september-2714/
badge by Doobster @ Mindful Digressions
Talk to me. Tell me all you have to give. Intone your desires. Spew your needs. And then,
present your very self. Your soul.
Gesture your heart.
For the sake of love.
To me.
For what is the alternative?
It is the personification
of nothing.
I stand here on the porch in the lowering gloom of dusk and I look upon my creations, pondering on what will become of them when I’m gone. I am the last of my generation. My children have passed, stricken before me by the cancer that now takes my air and presents me with fire in its stead. Fire like that which has recently vanished from the western sky, only blacker – poisoned.
I have one grandchild, too young to understand the ramblings of an old man. My notes and journals – they are part of my creations. They are dinosaurs awaiting an excavation that may never come to pass.
I close my eyes and wonder if they will ever again open. My eyelids are tugged by an uncontrollable weight. It’s all right though. My creations will linger here for me. They will see the light of another day, perhaps without the gentle touch of their creator.
I listen to the music
that you like all day.
I taste the food you enjoy
(I know because we go to the same restaurant)
I smell the shirt
I stole from your locker at the gym
(I sleep with it)
I feel between the sheets
how you must feel…
(between the sheets)
I see
I see
When you leave your house I watch
you get into your car
and you drive to work.
You laugh and you joke
with the people there
and you drive back home.
I see you walk away from me
when I try to approach you
why
can’t you love me too?
I am your
You are my
addiction.
My addiction is not
to the drug that makes me high
or the wine, blood red
that flows through my veins
My addiction is
the space between your knees
your bow-legged walk
in your jeans.
My addiction is not
to the high that is the taste
of ice cream or chocolate
or mountains of candy
My addiction is
the anticipation of your face
your voice on the phone
your knock on my door.
My addiction is not
the taste of caffeine
or the air that I breathe
or the roof over my head
My addiction is
your back
as you walked away
from me.
A man takes his fire from a woman’s breast and a woman takes hers from the life of her offspring.
But what of the coupling between man and woman
which makes the offspring come into being?
It is a drive so fierce, so powerful
that it can create
generations.
Linda G. Hill 