we can all carve out small segments of peace ~ a delicate private place, a wild place ~ but not everyone ~ communicates through a whisper of flowers,
A love worth chasing doesn’t corner itself,
it makes love *in those corners
it doesn’t confine itself to walls,
it leaves curved shadows in duplicate *all over those walls
it doesn’t carve itself into a single hollow torso,
chained to a heart display of bells and whistles,
it dances freely in quiet communication ~
a song-like vibration of souls – strumming,
beating small drums with fingertips
clutching onto a common chord ~ winging their symbols in the wind, perhaps the way one holds a prayer gently between teeth on a collar bone
left behind like archived kisses, saved forever on a lovers forehead
with her eyes closed.
* If my lips ever became pinned down by your left hand~ open your fingers~ gently over my mouth, just enough to let the air escape but not too much to allow words to scar your palms. My mouth becomes a nocturnal creature… biting gently between poetry and the sensual taste of tugging souls. All is possible between the silence of words and chaos of hands.
We’ve always chosen to colour ourselves in //outside the lines// with our wordless communication, so don’t act so surprised.
“It was a perverted thing to say, but I said it anyway. Made you smile and look away”
“And like the dawn, you woke the world inside of me”