Sensational Sensations

´┐╝

The sensation began as a prickling beneath my fingernails, a discomfort, nothing more. Yet, like an electric current flowing under my skin, through veins supposedly carrying blood, not animosity, it made a circuitous route of my body sparing not one inch of self. If someone had shaken my shoulder, slapped my face, it would not have roused me from the catatonic state I’d fallen into. As realisation spread and reality fell into place, memories stirred and myths became truths, I felt what she’d felt; it hurt. And through it all, throughout this experience I wished never to repeat not once did she blink. In eyes of pooled sapphire, she saw through me, her inner lightning flickering, then upped and walked away.

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Unmourned

He lassoed the moon with a rope made of hair,
twisted fibres of all those he’d lusted after.
He pulled with all the stored hate of a man spurned,
dragged the celestial orb closer, closer and closer still.
He smiled then the self-satisfied smirk of mischief
attributable to a child; wrong on a grown man, so wrong.
But his work was done, gravity altered, the tides changed.
For all those yet to love, yet to hope, yet to live,
he, the spiteful one, had altered the swells of each heart.
He died then, the strain of his awful work too much for one man.
Dissolved in a puddle of his own spite, he dripped away
as the universe realigned around him, heaven once again smiling.
For no amount of foolish spite could ever break the boundaries of love,
and still no woman mourned him.

Cold Comforts (Life’s Dance)

The cream smoothness of her skin enchanted,
A pale portrait to her quicksilver eyes;
Metallic and sharp, alert to observe my every detail.
Bowing, we interlinked fingers; hers were gloved,
And moved across the dance floor with acquired finesse.
Effortless, she travelled as though on ice,
The same ice that permeated her being, her soul.
How long must you frequent someone
Before realising them frosted through choice.
We parted with barely a smile, much less a farewell.
She judged me right to the point of departure.
I judged myself from the moment I chose her hand.

Hateful Words

Words cut deeper than any weapon, for they strike at the soul
They seek out the sanctity of self, and twist
Experience says they do not let go, not for a second
There is no retreat, no safe place, no remorse from such hate
For you carry it deep; it inveigles in falsehoods as well as pain
It is easier to turn and walk from war than spit away a word
Those that cast them know this all too well
And we know in so doing, they are pathetic and weak
Perhaps it is time to put away shared pride
And simply tell it to their faces

A good friend of mine has been affected greatly by hateful words of late and I for one wish her to know, we are with her, not them.

Midnight 

Poisonous words haunt the night

They cut the darkness, spite the light

Taint the moonrise, block the sky

But all I ask is why, oh why


Why?


In the midnight hours we

Ride a most tempestuous sea

In the midnight hours you

The girl I love just slips from view


You hurl the insults just like cups

They graze my face and give me cuts

An apparition of spiteful hate

The knife you wield will seal my fate


Why?


In the midnight hours we

Ride a most tempestuous sea

In the midnight hours you

The girl I love just slips from view


Why?


I cannot argue, my love’s too much

And quick you are to wield that crutch

With fury spitting from your lips

That final thrust not hand, but hips


Why?


In the midnight hours we

Ride a most tempestuous sea

In the midnight hours you

The girl I love just slips from view


Now I know





Delicate Rhythms


 When hearts and words collide,
 As rage and bile spew forth,
 It is only ever the heart that suffers.
 Words change with the wind,
 Syntax flowing like water to comply,
 Unaffected and ineffectual they adjust to suit.
 But not that most delicate of organs.
 Once the venom transfers
 It skips,
 Misses beats, falters, and even stops.
 So rein in those cruelties,
 Or you may lose those delicate rhythms of love.