My world is slight compared to how you see your’s … I don’t use comparisons in this way … I greet them at my cottage door as a color, or flavor, or newly discovered exotic scent … perhaps teal vivid with the attitude of butter scotch … the scent of birch branches kissing moonlight on the sly out beyond the edge of the meadow … where Merlot velvet evening gloves were left by a rusty haired Siamese warrior woman … this in her haste to join hre love tryst with the ghost of  a negro slave man … haunting this woods for 100 years now … with nothing more than his loving leisure to gift the female persuasion  with his manly pleasures … I want to go find him when the wind blows hot in the summer time … rain soaked thunder promises of storms peeking in their operatic orgasms … it is then time is cryptically shy this side of ever lasting and he runs thus … when the owls scatter widely hunting the breath of the night to bind his sanity to the iron of the oak … he calls baldly to the pitching boughs … ” Awake, my love I have been imprisoned in a death dream of your doing, Come take me home with you that I might in the bed of caresses awaken to leave this assured madness to the moon ” … I long to rush into his arms of vaporous electro illusion and absorb the pain this spectrous prison has held him in … spell bound and splintered … the teal of night soaking us up into the star dangling carelessness the day could not abide … in the day his haunts are only shadows upon my body … black stained thought remains my inner thighs ask politely to be marked by … creasing imperfections from my sound bite scent remains … for the pleasure of your touch falls as the lily gathers to her a light rain … innocent in the liking … pure in love so grace grants me the same sweetness as a babe… and I find a softness in my own heart which eyes take a care to notice well …

 #NaPoWriMo 16
  © 2015 Carla Dawn Dunlap All Right Reserved

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