Cold.

Tendrils of your voice

carries thick gravity

as though someone still

unsure

 

Hollow halls a relationship's home,

with views to      fall

and rise of violent suns

or cymbal cries                  the moon

 

orchestrations love blooming

even stretch of waking light

breakfast                       on our half - sleep

in our eyes newborn seeing

 

This is our satin

our life in each other's niches

         the crook or the fold of folded arms

kisses to speak our eyes'

 

pleading to never cease             this

how this should warm me

console me in cream-colored reverie

 

Why does this swarm my muscles

now with lethargy

a year and a half's              brusque calamity

 

Questioning

this    deflecting of gazes

and british anniversary conversations

over crumbled bed

 

Non-participation equals death

this           sex-life  remains of the day

abhorringly  boring  we make

days mean nothing

 

Although obese  with little meaning

shadow's preening

kean in starvation's immitating      this

confiding        no longer

 

Striking   while the iron's hottest

but your voice now... this   suffocation

this   feels

cold.

like this touch

cold.

 

Reviews

[Katherine Wyatt]

Interesting write..It seems as the relationship is happy and comfortable whenyou write:
"This is our satin
our life in each other's niches
the crook or the fold of folded arms
kisses to speak our eyes'

and at the end it is very bleak when you conclude with:
"but your voice now... this suffocation
this feels
cold.
like this touch
cold.

A bi-polar Love. Fascinating..thanks for sharing.

[Butch Decatoria]

Thanks butterflywoman,
it is that, a bi-polar yet passsionate love... like a latin woman to her man: if she is not complaining, there must be something wrong (in the relationship)--but the sex is always furious and exhaustingly wonderful.
lol.

~~Pfluffer.
thank you again.