They told me you were hard to puzzle out, a riddle wrapped in a conundrum. Like an onion, I would have to peel back the layers to find what you really were beneath. In reality, your smile was so open, I walked in uninvited.
You arrived too early, at the point when my heart could only shudder not flutter. So unused to feeling anything besides the grinding of pieces forcing themselves to fit into places grown too small. Instead of heat pooling somewhere deep there was fire along my hairline inside the back of my skull, with some primordial lesson still drumming in the shadows of my DNA. A tempo of hammering, lungs creasing and collapsing feet turned to lead still beating with the panic of my pulse as I let the miles run out of count beneath me. Catching my breath was a year long exericse which when marked only came up with a half score of ‘could do better if she applied herself’ and ‘doesn’t seem to really understand the subject matter discussed.’ Daily Post: Premature
We kicked the sheets to the foot of the bed where they twisted like ropes, caught us around our ankles, legs already woven into each other, pricked over in fresh sweat that made their clinging embrace too much for the fire under our skins. Tonight’s prompt for the DVerse Poets Quadrille night is fire!
You complimented the whisky on its burn while I scowled a tight lipped pucker against my teeth as if I could suck the taste away. Smoke stung I groped for something sweeter, hands landing on skin instead, you pressed fire kisses to my mouth. I think I’ll have another crack at the Quadrille Prompt ‘burn’ later on tonight because I’m not happy with how this one turned out. The last line doesn’t sit quite right but I ran out of words.
I’m far too good at handing over pieces of myself and it’s a wonder that there’s any of me left to give. Each time, I held my heart with both hands. Shattered it with a white knuckle grip and offered out the fragments like bon-bons, melting and sticky in my palm. I should have kept them closer, away from those who saw only wrappers and threw them aside without thought. Others tucked them into corners or placed them on shelves out of sight out of mind. No one realised I’d become a jigsaw. Not until you. Daily Prompt: Delivery
Our hands weren’t designed to fit together, they’re not puzzle pieces clicking into place or lego snapped into shape, there is no ergonomic design at play or thought to how our fingers interlay they fit because we ask them to. You’ve taken my hand enough times to wear leather into my palms so the callouses on yours can’t prick me. We’ve held wrists at awkward angles until our forearms burn with pins and needles because the other one is half asleep. We have rearranged and adjusted, twisted, worried, knotted fingers into bows, all to read the pulse under a thumb. We have crafted these hands with love. Made them to slot inside each other easily. Created something beautiful in simplicity. Written For The Daily Prompt: Partner Make sure to check out the new link up I’ll be running on Fridays! This week the challenge is to carry on the story using the beginning given! You can write your own story in full and link it in or just add a paragraph to carry on the …
Sweat sitting sticky in a shallow pool rippling. With each breath inhaled the hollow between her breasts fills deeper again. That hidden tremor running from calf to rib-cage, echoed with a groan that rumbles through to marrow deep and guttural. Knees converted into hooks, grappling for contact drawing deeper into sheets they hold, lock, engage. Nails drawing across a scalp and hair thick between fingers something for purchase. lips, tongue and teeth, clash, curl, bite, praises, curses, moaned. gasping for air or for words, muscles arching back drawn to breaking point, to snap. Sweat sitting sticky, that hollow between her breasts kisses press lazily up. Thursday night over at the DVerse Poets Pub is form night, and tonight we’ve been challenged to write a Choka which is a Japanese style of poem. It words on an alternating 5-7 syllable count with an extra 7 syllable line at the end. I decided to combine the Choka form with today’s Daily Prompt: Temptation.
Our roads did not lead to each other, they just sort of intersected, over and over again until I got sick of making excuses for all the detours and worked up the courage to ask you out. There was no saving me, no white horses, or armour, or dark monsters emerging from the shadows. There was a computer shop and a boy, and a girl, and a lot of ‘technical issues’. Written In Response to PoetryLover’s Poem: New Beginnings
You found me tacked to a wall, half a shadow pretending to smile, still tearing chunks off myself for someone else’s benefit. Everything I was, I wanted shivering, wasted, pushed back for other’s things. You were the first to ask for nothing. You did not need a shoulder, a listener, or scaffolding for your spine. You were solid and generous. I learnt that I could unpin myself, trust you to catch the pieces as they fell, be a little more selfish and focus on the storm clouds I realised I’d been lost in. You showed me love unconditional. A quick write for the daily post prompt: Generous It sort of follows on from my poem Pieces Of You.
For the twenty-three year old with the widow’s peak, and freshly shaved cheeks, currently on the other side of the crack between office door and door jam, sticking his tongue out of the corner of his mouth. These are the moment when I am the most in love with you. That silly, childish quirkiness that tickles the grump out of my limbs and forces me to chuckle into folded arms, head down against the desk, aware that I should be writing but in all reality, I’m struggling to do so much as turn away from you. I flirted shamelessly for three years, until timings and courage were aligned enough that we ended up somewhere other than the shop you worked in and I, carrying something other than a so-called broken laptop, was trying to make sure that you realised that it was defiantly a date before somehow loosing my footing and almost falling straight on my arse. We’ve always found it easy to laugh. I come home to you, not the house or the things …