Encircled in your arms,
and losing track of time,
only breathing
only breathing.
It has no meaning, time,
neither do we need to speak,
verbally or eye to eye,
only breathing.
And you are wrapped around
me wrapped around you
wrapped around
and arms against along around arms,
never did work out where,
one arm is quite supposed to go…
only breathing now,
in and out and in and out
until the end of time,
no time,
no calendar,
nothing,
only breathing,
warmly breathing
each other in and out.
A Change In The Air
How tender you were, and are,
how gentle,
how soft are your eyes now.
What is it that you see?
Cold in the moonlight,
frost forming as my eyes to yours,
only warming.
What is it that I said?
How tender is your touch now,
and only lately,
do your eyes,
which have ever spoken volumes,
said so much.
Cold beneath the moon,
and I felt that breath,
smoky and warm in the dark.
Where is it we have come to?
How tender is your caress,
and fierce,
the light beneath your lips.
What is it you are telling me so empty of words?
Cold under the moon,
a frosty, cold, cold night,
no where else so warm, so dry.
I am freezing in your arms,
dying to go on.
Oh I would walk, and I would walk,
And I would turn that key so hard,
only a momentary ache.
A case of wishing too hard.
Happiness takes more than the wave of a fairy wand,
I may claim contrariwise on occaision,
But my wand not-waved with deliberation.
I am alone on the moors, watching,
Easier to take pleasure on the outskirts,
than right here in the middle.
Golden, thats what it is and golden means nothing less,
than champagne at the end of all my days,
and I will drink it all the time,
the trick is, to know when the wand makes champagne,
right there out of cherry coke,
and when you have to buy Moet yourself.
Such trappings of civilisation,
were I truly faery, I could drink bubbles from a brook,
and never notice what form it took,
only joyous golden light in this stream.
But I am what I am and nothing more or less,
and in this dream I only golden seem,
for I am purest greed. Desire such as never felt by faery,
Faery is what is and nothing more,
selfless are the acts of faery, and I am what I am and wanting more,
So take away this cherry coke, this Moet and chandon hell,
I am too greedy and all for this,
when I can lie alone on a purple moor and be in heaven,
whence came my indulgent desire for purest bliss?
Civilisation happened and took my moors,
my love and lover and love has lasted still,
and I am happiest when with another,
but still a part of me goes to climb the hills.
I could sit and watch and listen to you forever.
I could lap up your every word,
listen to your love forever.
As you speak I remember,
how it felt to sleep beside you,
that first time, that only time.
You were warm in a way that spread your hair,
like Cohen’s lyrics upon the pillow.
I will stand here watching.
I will sit here caught on every word.
I will watch you forever,
when you pass beyond my eyes,
when we have said our last, pained goodbyes,
you will exist behind these lids.
You pull from me,
a girl who thinks she knows what love is…
She has been silently crying though she saw
everything in garbage and flowers.
You are my sleeping storm.
I see you there,
head on the pillow besides me,
and it is you his words reach and I reach for my own;
don’t say goodbye,
don’t say goodbye.
I need you there on the pillow besides me,
to watch the sunlight kiss your hair,
to touch you where I do not dare.
We are here, life is parting us.
I will watch your sadness,
listen to it; nothing now between us,
simply all the times I’ve watched,
all the times I’ve listened and all the times I’ve wanted to.
I keep thinking that perhaps our loves are forever inside us,
did they keep us chained?
Or are they responsible for you knowing where you must go?
Will we sit here forever?
Warming our inner-selves by sitting on freezing cold rooftops.
I see your hair spread out before me,
we are not the only ones;
let us dance as though we are.
I could stay this way forever watching.
I would stay this way, my eyes upon your eyes,
listening to your mouth framing the words,
wanting you to keep on talking;
fretting because you’re leaving,
knowing that you must and seeing forever your blonde storm touched by sunlight.
There within arms reach beneath my duvet,
on the pillow besides me,
forever just a little too far away.
I’ll stay here watching,
stay here listening,
and I’ll stay here forever seeing all of you;
everything you show to me,
as you speak. Silent you lay besides me,
the warmth of your body staining my duvet with your scent.
I would stay here besides you for an ever,
until you woke to the sunlight,
and bid me goodbye as I lay there,
loving you.
Your sorrowful eyes upon me as your mouth frames the words I must listen to
and did not want to hear.
I turn the knife a little more,
to see how much it hurts?
and every word and every wrong,
thats where I push it in,
I watch with avid fascination,
at all my gushing blood,
and mark with words,
with delectation, every drop and flood.
Watch me turn the knife,
every minute you tell me to,
watch me turn the knife,
I’ll let you join in, please do.
I wish I thought things through,
I wish I’d realised,
but I think sometimes I go through life,
with closed, unseeing eyes.
Let me turn the knife,
let me push a little more,
do you think if I keep on pushing,
I’ll feel better or just sore?
Breathing in as you’re breathing out,
and it seems to me,
that breath does not need to travel half the world to be,
but there in your arms,
a cave of utter warmth,
breathing in as you’re breathing out,
warming, feeling, we.
A solid foundation found, should not be read as true,
wherever it seems I am, a sudden shakiness is due,
Not so much because I’m not, but rather because I am,
and every flowering of itself reminds me of this sham,
this self of selves within a self, and mirror-reflected on,
I wonder will this get worse or better, a long time till we’re done.
Still I stand and still I am, and nothing now obscene,
For I will stand and I will be even if I am unseen,
I am when all is said and done, I am and am and am,
And there is nothing to be done but stand and simply be.
And the laurels hung there, above the stone door. The blind woman stood and looked up at them, she knew they were there, the smell of them, the taste on the wind. They were not shaped into a wreath yet, simply they hung and she could not reach them.
“Do not go in,” she pleaded. “I do not know the way beyond here, do not go in.”
She knew of course that they must, but the problem with being blind and being named for it is the fear that inhabits the deepest parts of you as a result. They were not there yet, she knew that too, and yet she still gestured at them, and spoke aloud into the empty air.
Then they came, they came together. The woman thin, pale and carrying a sword. The man wiry, well-fed, striding over the open moor-land.
“Don’t go. Don’t leave the air. Please don’t enter this place.” and she stood, the blind woman, in front of the stone door.
They looked at her and said nothing.
Then the man strode around her and around the door, surveying the three stones set into the purple moorland.
“Where does it lead?” asked the girl.
“I will not do this!” replied the blind woman and the man came around the doorway bringing his arm, and the knife he held, to her throat.
“I will not do this.” sobbed the blind woman.
“Answer her question.” said the man, gently. She could feel the knife at her throat and his hip solidly in the centre of her lower-back.
“It leads to other-lands.” she replied.
“To my land?” asked the girl with the sword.
“Yes.” sobbed the blind-woman. “Only, do not leave this place. Please do not leave this place.”
The girl looked at her strangely. “It is not my place here, it is yours, why should I care what became of it?”
The woman only sobbed and, upon being released reached up to pluck at the laurels. The girl walked around the stone structure and then gazed out over the moor. It was purple and the sky was a curious blend of grey and gold. The woman wove the laurel into a wreath.
“Will you leave then?” she asked the girl.
“Of course.” replied the girl. “Who are you?”
The blind woman said nothing.
The girl looked at the man who only shrugged in response.
As the girl stepped through the stone doorway the greyness of the sky became darked as if the sun had been plucked from it. The man took up his position within the doorway and the blind-woman feeling the cold wind rip through her began to tear her hair. Then she pushed her way past the man and followed the girl into the darkness. As she did so she dropped the laurel wreath that she had made for the girl, the man in the doorway picked it up and held it, lightly, between his hands.
luvlymish
Mish's Quick Kisses 