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
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.
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
Your kisses never last long enough
or only if my memory could recreate
the sensation of your lips against mine
the passion in your yearning for me
the sweetness and warmth of your breath
the taste of your tenderness
on the tip of my tongue
then heaven would be with me
every moment of the day.
LGH
@December 27, 2005
My life is an open bookstore
Ask anything…
but if you leave with the info you have to pay for the book,
otherwise these really annoying beepers go off
and everyone turns around
and stares at you…
It’s a game of rat and mouse we play
You with the treacherous paw
Curling your finger so enchantingly,
“Come here, come here,”
your breath is sweet like onions
and your teeth gleam
making me wonder what tidbit,
what delicious speck of sugar
you might have for me…
I inch forward, my nose atwitching
for the scent of danger
but you’re good,
you’re so so good
that all I can sense
is your candy-coated grin
and I’m mesmerized
by that tiny finger
hypnotizing me with it’s
steady
crooked
temptation
I’m so close now I can feel your ratty stinky breath
on my whiskers
You smile,
your charm could placate a snake
and I relax
I tell you my woes
I turn over my sympathy,
like it was my firstborn
I give you
everything
all of me
all I hold dear
And then.
What do you do…?
Your ratty teeth no longer gleam
dear vermin,
your onion breath stings my eyes
Your insidious paw
with its needle-sharp claw
that has skewered everything
everything
everything I love
has a hair upon it
It is mine
from where you dug out the flesh
from my sleek mousy back
but what you don’t realize
You will choke on it all
dear rat
Your blessed rat life
where you’ve gathered so much
shitty gold
will turn to dust
And you, poor withered rat
will die
with my hair
in your throat.
I close my eyes and hear the sound of my breath
Nothing else haunts me tonight, I am alone
In touch with my deep blue thoughts I stay here
Wading among ghosts of dreams of long lost lovers
If time should be so kind to me, to bless me with one last kiss
…it will never be enough, for I will go on
In the vein of life that passes my lips as air
Swallowed up by the night, the darkness in my heart.
December 7, 2005
11:29pm
Your silence is like a fine coating of dust
That shrouds my room
My bed weighed down
Shards of sparkling glass
All around
So I sit, congested, congealed
Afraid to move
Lest I disturb your silence;
All that remains of you.
In a flash
You’re gone
I missed
You sped
away
from my sight
In the night
I dreamt
You stayed
I met you, and in five minutes you had wiped me right off the planet with your charm.
Now, a mere hour later, I am ashes in your wake.
It is clear as crystal.
As fine as the softest downy feather.
That you were meant
For a certain kind of hell.
How else can one like me, with nothing to my name but the clothes on my back,
describe the likes of you, with your mirages and mirrors?
You who takes and takes and gives back fire
to burn the skin from my bones
and leaves me smouldering by the side of the road.
But you love it.
You ache for it.
You, who deserves only to be exposed
to a certain kind of hell.
Linda G. Hill 