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I am wishing me into the last weeks of September where they promise three weeks of cold before a final seven days of warmth and October's surrender to the lust of the cold that I want again as my caress. Blue with thinner ceiling cover, morning frost that sun-touched yields to diamonds of wet on still bare feet, that is my longed for November. Tilt further rock of desire; give me up in saving grace to iced embrace. Foresworn warmth of skin pressed tight to this my empty form, savage me and burn 'til numbed with rejection my frigid partner, my yet still dripping desire. Come quickly let me open myself to you, throw off blankets, strip my frame, expose each part so each tender fold lays displayed for your deepening spread tendrils of examination. Slow what must be slowed, consume what you seek to need, sever quivered nerve's denials, complete the hardness of my teeth with hardened cracked and now split lips, with nipples once so tender now pebbled on your winter beach, with skin no longer goose bumped granular, with limbs that reach no further statuesque, with eyes as glazed grey as your marble cutting winds, with thoughts that scattered flow in no known pattern. Further in, dig in, furrow in, plough and plunder, burst me as I seek to stretch, to curl fetal, to hide my flesh; shovel pick and axe to open where what remains still red and warm holds pain. Make me crystal, make me ice, pick me up and carry me high, cleanse my color, bleach me, clear and complex and unique again. Float me in your Kelvin arms, carry me directionless and far, cast me out like lovers do when they discover all there is to know, then drop me slow. Spread me thin and wide and light, dry and hard as pavement in the night. Let me touch another then, and open their doors to let you in.
© Amanda 2012
8/27/2012
Ice cracked eyes stare immobile
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© Amanda 2012
8/27/2012
Ice cracked eyes stare immobile
Mature Content
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.April ending.
.April ending.
Twitter™ is also like this, her search through detritus layers of life; linear in procedure. Time as lines, the TL: a wanted sequence for us to cling to even knowing the quantum cosmology of particle and wave mechanics. Twitter does not randomly present us. Neglecting even the theme sequence groupings which is a more likely portrayal of our natures.
It is left to us to paint our own contrails.
Across her words lay themes, not necessarily unique or original, but hers. An underlying hum of message machinery, not to be heard but sensed, felt.
The longing for the extraneous 'power' to which we cling, adhere, our desire fo
. backgrounds .
. backgrounds .
eat me play me
.
"And it feels as though God has abandoned you … in a stark place."
-A. Christie-
.
.
An arrangement of pieces, choreography of accidental encounters each of which denied them a presence or indicated any possible progress.
.
I do not command, I obtain.
.
She'd belittled the Plath of me, that small measure which i yet adored; that then, became a tipping point in our conjectured inevitability.
.
in crush
you lick
the soil soul of
my backgrounds
.
I'll make you quiet.
.
slicing through the young
smiling
alcohol ghost
.
I'll make you run.
.
driv
.upon surrender.
.upon surrender.
.
... only she knows ...
.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
E.Bishop
.
i sang
.
touch stones without remark tumbled
one after another
pathway footsteps
unnoted
one
after
another
no clack of disapprovals shed
one after another
creek bed’s
surrender
ocean’s
slickened
staid
.
as though i were an insult though they never spat me out
as though i were a crime they'd committed in dead of night
as though i were several different outfits now out
.last love.
.last love.
.
Why?
because i want to see beautiful things
think beautiful things
dream beautiful things
.
.
Oh they're running t'old steam engine tour train through t'valley today. God i wish i was having coal smoke and burning cinders blowin in my face. *picturing the screaming flaming tourists beating each other*
Fuck me with a jackhammer humans ARE the funniest damn creatures. Mom to six year old child "Hurry honey get that pretty summer frock on, we've got to catch the open air tour train!" Two hours later the scorched-hair tour family clambers offa the Old Timey tour train ... "Now wasn't THAT fun!"
And you know what REALLY ma
© 2012 - 2024 Amanda-Graham
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HAH...