excerpt of #35

her way.

 

my

soul.

 

like a ladder up against

a barn door

 

can we climb it

or will the

rungs

 

be neatly sawed in

half.

 

paintbrush drips

half into an

empty

 

paint can

half into

the

 

ground−

 

similar to a

promise

 

that might be kept;

 

i look up at the sun

and swallow

the

 

light,

 

it warms me…

 

i push back her hair

with closed eyes

 

my heart skips like

a needle

on a 78

 

she runs her hand

half−blind

 

down my face

down my

emotions;

 

the paint dripping

sets the pace

 

for a wet kiss

 

i carry her under

awaiting

sheets

 

touch like

a dirty

paintbrush

 

love enters

with the same

 

feeling as a

footprint on

 

a deserted beach;

 

after,

 

wrapped up

tight

 

wrapped up

sweaty,

 

her way.

 

my

soul…

 

Copyright © 05/10/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

Image

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