restless....

I am not happy with this way of writing...but perhaps I only haven't been putting enough into it, enough down on paper...I really enjoyed blogging on yahoo 360...what is left now to work with seems more like snippets.....
Summer is crawling through and as much as I detest the grayness of the cooler days, I find myself wishing for them...I am much too restless...

ownership

she lays across the bed
ceiling fan murmuring
skin singing an off tune melody
and thinks of him
her hands feel restless in their glide
her mind full of spaces where words
confuse their entry to hearing
her, a singularity awaiting to know
just a bit better
where to be
she lays across the linens, sheets capering
storm outside threatening
heart beating just as loudly
and thinks of him
her surface a memory, pinpricked like a map
her thoughts a tangled bit of whispers
that revolve and reverberate
him, a singularity awaiting to know
just a bit better
where to be

slip

skin becomes a map to the initiated
of places travelled and yet to be visited
on your body I pull up a pen and write
X marks the place I last left treasure
small little kisses spaced like footprints
to follow through the hollow bits of neck and hip
crawling soft with intense intention
looking for the lost connections of mind and body
I slip down.....
eyes appraise the drifting changes
we are laced from one experience to another
and I pull on yours to tether my own
hush this heart, or let it sing out
to follow through the shallow and unknown time to come
journeys are meant to be taken

to find the soul we must find the mirror in the other
I slip down....

dimming

sometimes I am rocked by my awareness
of being alone, singular, sufficient, capable, and bereft
light dims by day's end normally
but what then if the light doesn't seem to also brighten
when breath quickens and the sky blooms
I no longer have answers
I can say today is
today I will be and strive
and at the end if yet still
day is only dimming
another day will yet come
in this I must believe

Inside

seriously
intimacy is not the slice of skin that glances across mine
or the scent of your body inside my linen, as nice as that might be
its this inside
view, of my regrets, my hurts, my hunger yet
my child bouncing around with impatience
my old woman hobbling like a taxi bound nowhere at all
my right here, right now, asking you to
just look
deep
and be still validated as worthwhile
by what you see
on this inside
where I see your
heart too

halves

heart just lay down on this plate
I've already prepared
the knife is sharp
I can divide you and all your intimacies
until all that exists is halves
until you know not one self
but many
with different kinds of eyes, seeing
aspects of unnamed things
blessings and curses mingled

mind just sleep here now in shade
I've already setup the blinds
the dark inside is perfect
I can promise you will know even less than nothing
until all that exists is extraneous
and heavy
with diffident ways of being, allowing
dreams of what could be
simply slip away

body just forget how you used to be
I've already erased the music
the silence is complete with pain
I can seperate your dependence and expectation
to nil, and then you will be
only empty
with the essence of tragedy imprinted like a song
eternally echoing
halves of living

not titled as of yet....working

I lay down
and then
I get back up again
I walk the room in circles
the walls gathering their corners even tighter
working chants, working their gossip
I walk further
out into the darkening day
birdsong muted to tree limb embraced
I am nothing to them
and to myself
a murmur