Stormgrove Press

I’m here for your lip licking
Rough and sweet all the same
Slide it through my inner fear
And capture some lip above
Swirl it something along my nipple
Skin my flesh with some nettle
plant that over some love
Finger licking love
Tongue flicking all day, all across my tummy void
Slip it between your teeth
Tremble with the pressure of an artery
Ripe with nettle spurs
Irritating and stimulating the blood gush
Below the skin around the flesh
Under finger nails and around the halo.

Looking through the cracks of the broken glass, I see the old man across the way sitting at his desk writing his life for some lucky soul to find too late.

Big curved bright glass.
I sit in front.
Thousands of stills (static images) flash
I see none but All
How fast can my life pass before my eyes
What if I were blind, would my ears buzz?
I sit in front—I don’t care.
Please, I beg of my other senses to forgive their neglect
Sit closer and you can feel the damage
Sit in front—I don’t have the time to think
I sit, I stand, I stare, I want to be captivated
Oh the color is grand
And the sound is surrounding
It all reminds me of a National Geographic Special I saw—
The forest alive and totally engulfing with life and depth
Luscious trees and playful birds and bees
It was all right there on TV.

My body is not correct,
and I hear others voice their own concerns.
But my body is not right,
and I cannot see their perceived errors.
Yet I live with my body,
and wonder how they can live with mine.
I like their bodies,
and see no problems;
The problem is mine
and my failure to understand
what it is I know.

When the sun hauls itself out
with the room becoming light
The sheets and blankets fly forward
releasing the last remnants of comfort
except for our pampered feet
so smartly wedged between all the bedding
at the end of the sheets.
It is a solemn period
just before all involved
grab and yank back their excuse
To nestle with their perfect life
for a few more fleeting moments.