Continuation of Part V coming. . .
nor let what happens in without
one door that opens open mind
and candles flicker with their light
the dark within this rheumy sight
the music plays inside my head
and body dances on the bed
my own in writhing rhythmic flow
like restless legs, a syndrome, go.
The bedding, blankets, all unfold
their cov'ring pulled upon the sheets
of satin, silky, soft, unstained
and here, for hours I remained
still, contemplative, as a dream
recurrent, vast collage of images
and I explore the outer shell
with heated oils, melted creams
spread evenly, s l o w l y
on all surfaces, no rings or bracelets
chains or charms
encumbering, raising false alarms
that this, my respite, was unreal
to all but me. It isn't as it seems,
not fantasy nor midday dreams.
My hands upon my flesh like yours
were delicate as once yours were
but are no more too rushed to touch
where you no longer care to roam.
The warming cream froths into foam
where spread apart I fill my gap
that yawned for you (tried only once)
till you rebelled against my will
that satisfied just me– repelling you.
Now, here I lie my other self
re-loving me as is my need
without the fear your demon seed
will spill itself upon my skin
defiling this my dream within.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 449 times
Written on 2007-02-26 at 17:56
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The Secret Room Part IV
No windows cast their light withinnor let what happens in without
one door that opens open mind
and candles flicker with their light
the dark within this rheumy sight
the music plays inside my head
and body dances on the bed
my own in writhing rhythmic flow
like restless legs, a syndrome, go.
The bedding, blankets, all unfold
their cov'ring pulled upon the sheets
of satin, silky, soft, unstained
and here, for hours I remained
still, contemplative, as a dream
recurrent, vast collage of images
and I explore the outer shell
with heated oils, melted creams
spread evenly, s l o w l y
on all surfaces, no rings or bracelets
chains or charms
encumbering, raising false alarms
that this, my respite, was unreal
to all but me. It isn't as it seems,
not fantasy nor midday dreams.
My hands upon my flesh like yours
were delicate as once yours were
but are no more too rushed to touch
where you no longer care to roam.
The warming cream froths into foam
where spread apart I fill my gap
that yawned for you (tried only once)
till you rebelled against my will
that satisfied just me– repelling you.
Now, here I lie my other self
re-loving me as is my need
without the fear your demon seed
will spill itself upon my skin
defiling this my dream within.
Poetry by NotaDeadPoet
Read 449 times
Written on 2007-02-26 at 17:56
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
