Your tongue slithers towards
my mouth
I turn
and
feel it lick my cheek
Lashes flutter
while my metronome
goes off beat
for a moment
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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▼
2015
(328)
-
▼
January
(31)
- trust
- evening run
- The steps we take determine the destination.
- We are the agents of change in our own lives.
- Blood Memory
- Entertaining the Muse
- Let It Write Itself Freely
- Me Myself
- Blinding White
- Close the door and turn off the lights, please?
- Company
- Your Kindness
- Being Good
- What is there to be seen?
- A Few Thoughts On Love and Related Subjects.
- Prayer
- All Possibilities
- Fishnets
- tangential connections
- When It Is Time To Sleep
- The Agenda
- ...falling through the ceiling of your dreams.
- The Guest
- directions
- An Exercise In Memory
- An Orphan
- I Did Because I Could Not
- mating rituals
- Be Focused and Willing.
- On Running
- More Life
-
▼
January
(31)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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