This week’s Wicked Wednesday prompt is “playful,” so I decided to try a bit of poetry. I’m rusty, to say the least. But here’s a bit of “playing with words.” Like You What if I (stopped/started) kissing you right beneath your earlobe, in that shadowy place where you forget to shave sometimes? Would you be…
I hide behind the veil of anonymity, uncovering just enough to feel exposed – baring breasts, hips, a facial silhouette – yet holding back just enough to feel safe. It’s a bizarre balance of telling secrets and keeping them, flirting with discovery, and fearing it. I cannot tell you my name, but I can tell…
When he’s away, my world becomes quiet. Like going underwater, at first it seems pleasant — my senses pare down to only the essentials, sight and touch. But as I sink into it, the weight of his absence bears down on my chest, and my surroundings grow dark. I feel tendrils of panic welling up…
She hadn’t blossomed in some time, but her leaves were green and supple still, strong from years of withstanding the weather. And there was hope. Spring was coming. Inside, she felt the stir, and wondered if maybe this would be her year. 0
I study your skin as it meets mine: yours – calloused, dark, and searching, my own – light and expectant. Pressed together, we become one flesh, glued by sweat and propelled by energy, our contents binding together. We are synthesis in motion, visceral and changeable, our properties exploding upon impact. In your arms, I slip…
