Soft spoken words
into each others ears
Fears
Hopes
Promises
Warm bodies
under
warm sheets
Morning passing
while we sleep
while we
hold one another
Skin turned
electric
Warm breath
on neck
Silken hairs
rising on
goose flesh
In silence
until at last
a slight groan
as we shift
beneathe
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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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▼
2018
(251)
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▼
May
(32)
- Bud and Blossom
- Lavender Rose
- Rest
- Recent Words for The Muse
- Morning 5/20/18
- Purple and Green (freewrite)
- I Am Consumed By The Thought Of You.
- The Voyage
- Morning 5/17/18
- All
- As The Sun Rises
- Morning 5/15/18
- Just One Moment
- A New Ocean
- The Flood
- Wholly
- Morning 5/12/18
- Recent Events
- Burning Bright
- Small Shifts
- Feast
- You cannot plan for the unpredictable.
- Morning 5/9/18
- Topographical Maps
- Morning 5/7/18
- Purge Yourself
- Ifs
- Beginnings and Endings
- And the sun is out And you are awake And the sun i...
- Sri Bhagawan
- Now is the point of now.
- Push To Let Go
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▼
May
(32)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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