Well you dunno what I’m writing!
Anyway, what is more erotic than writing with a tub of icecream? A once in a very while indulgence… amongst other things.
1170 posts pending. 263 drafts.
Many a word there to find a place for.
It is this category thing screwing with me isn’t it?
I cannot recall why I put ALL my fucking posts as pending, though I think it was to try become vaguely more organised in it. That was the original intention of creating a blog over three (four?) years back, to have a place to put the poems and subconscious babble in some sort of coherent album type thing.
Now it is done, I don’t know if I should ‘undone’ it, or republish shit, or move along and let them be.
Though, one thing I DO know is blogging changed me and my relationship with people and the world, more than I imagined it could.
(for better hopefully, though in moments creating misery swinging oft toward elation…ffs. 😉 )
Another three years then?
Another thing –
I started posting some of the poetry on Instagram (It is fun a little, Kinda) :
Yes I realise I cropped it like a novice Instagrammer – that would be because I am one.
You fall in, your hand pulling on mine.
Crashing through the glass walls between our eyes.
Shards lay under where we walk, shells along the shore piercing flesh until tears form the waves that caress mornings cold coarse sand. We stand, you and I, hand in hand walk a mile or two or three more than we should. We swim naked, the scars of aeons beneath our layers removed. Lay down in a breeze just close enough for the tips of our fingers to touch; far enough for our sight to be obscured by the dazzling sun when looking face to face. We are only breath.
My breath, just like those waves further out where we dared to drift, is the silence of your soul roaring in its life just there on the other side of where white horses reach there peak. You went on. In my mind I saw you smile as your ass moved side to side until the water covered it’s curve caressing you as I wished just once to do, and carrying you. You faced me, laughed, sang, thanked me for my time. This time, I saw your smile no longer hidden.
In you is the grain of my canvas, covered in my sunset painting, drowned out of my picture alluding to delusions at midnight. Eluding your spell, an illusion; You under the that spell of life pushing, pulling, there. There, just like you imagined. There, just like you wanted. There, in the deep blue sea. The sea I told you would spit you out one day when she had swallowed you whole; when she was done with you. When you were; when you and she knew her roar could no longer devour you. Here onto now warm sand as the sun begins to fade. Back on the shore, walk across this piece of earth weathered to fine grains? Touch the fingers of the old bones softer now, still, like the golden sand upon which you would stand?
Take them. Place them into the water and let them taste where you have been? Stand again for a moment, naked, up to your waist in the water. There, at sunset in the water I will hold every part of who you are and have become. There, until the sea is no longer tears.