i am sixteen years old again reading a bawdy romance novel
marvelling at the prospect of being younger and in love as i lie here years and years on, the pages well folded, molded, like i've tried for the past few turns of my life to make what i want and who i want from words and sounds and ideals and good descriptors, not too obvious but obviously not boring, safe and wild, perhaps cavalier, understanding? understanding, patient, handsome, beautiful, soft hard wisened young determined not too determined leave some space for the girl lying here with the steamy book in her untouched hands flicking through lines and lines of practiced perfection and flawless repartee-- but i am not sixteen anymore and these things have come and gone,
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dear reader,
are you so alone you ignore the rain tapping at your window for you undivided attention begging you to notice the loving pains of breaking clouds and skies and lightening sweeping the earth, the mud with blessings pelting down from the heavens ready to bring you nourishment, health and company, a bud growing through wiry branches, just listen to it that onslaught of care, ceasing in a moment or two but for now, for yesterday, for ever do not believe there is nobody but you wretch
who took her heart and offered nothing in return, had given less in return, do you enjoy it? carving it into your dream while she watches, prone and angry are you satisfied? the desire sated? thief of what is hers, revenge is leering, retribution looming. my Lord forgive her my Lord forgive her my Lord forgive her for what is past, present, and uncertain. You are her salvation, Lord, but her claws still ache to rip a little throat out |
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