i sing the porcelain face

she kisses me where i wake up 
in summer rain under
maple tree leaves, droplets
of golden sun in each
to touch our nakedness
i run my palm down
her skin, my fingers to 
brush a porcelain
face, eyes breathe into
our souls;

braids her auburn hair as flowers
wake to taste breezes
dancing through light, i 
cover her loveliness with
pink roses, she strokes my
affection, i lay her 
down, i feel the 
warmth of nudity,
of tenderness,
we are one; 

i sing the porcelain face, she
gravitates as i cum
lips pressed hard where
love awakens, her hands
deep in my back
breasts pushing into
my chest,
my hand encircles
she whispers softly,
“i love you… “

Copyright © 08/16/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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she’s well acquainted

milk runs down her face, over sheer lace,
over black silken dress, not

like glue paste on coloured paper, put away
when classrooms forgot

to teach; dripping, dripping onto a dirty
linoleum floor where

dark gray water in yellow buckets got
mopped under children’s

lives; P.C. 31 watching mason’s brick
cover up windows where

once small faces were more interested
in skinned knees and

silver chutes in playgrounds, now books
and crayons gasp for

light; she remembers freckles in places
where mascara black

drips down onto an attic trunk Victorian
dress; anglo saxon church

school house adjacent, heard the steeple
bells at recess, heard

them when she sang in the choir, when she
wore a virgin color;

baby born under a thatched roof overlooking
a blue sea, he traveled,

never came back from afar, she raised with
heart and soul,

always read from the good book; daughter
off to school where glue

paste ran down coloured paper, where her
young face laughed with

arms spread out sliding down silver chutes,
learning when her

mother taught a refined essence, but that
was banned; she saw

happiness in a daughter’s face, gold round
on a finger as chapel

bells rang; love in a cottage when a grand
daughter was born…

milk runs down the daughter’s face, over
sheer lace, over

black silken dress…

Copyright © 07/25/2013 Ð Ṝ Ƣ Ñeedle & Ŧhread®

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closed eyes

she. suddenly felt scared where light

from a flashlight

didn’t hit 

corners in an empty

room, he. stood in one, slowly

aging, confused, love 

removed like a floor to sadness,

mistakes he made died in

a second, second hand on a

wristwatch ticking

away in a 

playground,

 

rusted slides and boxes of crackerjacks,

splinters in young fingers,

all covered with

moss and yellow

parking lines now; music

playing in an idling automobile,

song runs down her leg,

she checks the small

revolver, checks the small bore,

slaps the cylinder shut

like she slapped his 

mouth open,

 

revved the v—8 with a stiletto

heal and a bad attitude,

she looked

in a rear view, painted 

a reminder with tire rubber

and a slit dress,

straightened out road

curves with an Indian chief

hood ornament

and a palm pressed hard

on a horn,

tossed his ring out the 

side—vent 

window,

 

pulled up in front of his apartment,

straddled the curve,

imagined a

drunk lying in an

awkward position on a warped

park bench, tattered 

clothing not

close to

a beggar’s ambition; she shot 

through his lock with

a smoking gun,

shot through his loose apparel,

dropped the gun like

a prom date drops

her morals,

 

watched him bleed, watched

his gentle hand plead

for help; as she negligently 

walked, struck sulfur,

ignited the place,

three alarm red trucks used

water like a drowning

man drinks

moisture off a

sidewalk,

 

a while later, she awakens in her

Pontiac, guilt grows into

her face, she missed

the hugging,

missed his hand

brush her face, turns the key,

mashes down on the

accelerator, sails into

a lake where ice painted

its surface,

sails into solitude; 

but, a touch, a tug,

she’s pulled from the cold

watered murkiness,

 

gets mouth to mouth, the taste,

the feel, he

saved her, forgives her,

puts back her heart where in

a kitchen

a husband puts back

together a favorite plate

dropped out of haste

with white glue and a

tired opinion,

she holds him

with closed

eyes…

 

Copyright © 06/28/2013 Ðark Ṝoasted Ƣoetry®

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