Lagavulin served in a warm glass.
Straight to the back of the throat,
that heady ecstasy,
as I breathe in the perfume,
of joy.
How many does it take?
Before the joy and the savouring,
of one glass,
turns into,
desire for more, urgent need,
to taste it, again.
Another glass, another,
and the slow, gentle, deliciousness,
of the warm glass,cools,
and we pour again,
licking the sticky drops from my lips.
To quaff, such a waste,
straight to the back of the throat,
and I am drunk on too much joy,
wiping ecstasy,
sheepishly from my cheeks,
breathing in,
the scent of desire.
Death of Dreams
That day that we came back was the day I thought,
‘Yes,’
I can do this.
More than that,
I want to.
That was the day it ended.
Small wonder then, how I’ve clung to that dream,
the day I said that I believed,
was the day it was over.
I won’t apologise for not knowing straight away,
I won’t apologise for taking my time,
for wanting to be sure,
of myself more than you,
I wanted to know that I could do this,
could be this way,
live your dreams and yours and yours,
and do them my own way.
That day I made my decision,
final, thorough, meant.
I knew that I could do this,
more than any other dream I’ve dreamt.
And that was the day,
on which that dream died,
so here I am and whoop-de-doo, I’ve survived,
We miss the dream, I know we do,
but it lays there unretrievable, cold and blue,
stillborn on the day that I reached for it,
and trusted.
I was gagged,
As I never have been before,
stoppered up,
unable to express,
what I felt,
was not mine to feel,
only that this,
could not be real,
this,
could not be real,
and it was.
Too awful to be true,
but it was,
and I was stoppered up,
afraid to cry,
unable to show,
exactly how I felt,
for fear that,
I was intruding,
with a grief that was mine.
I want to be back there again, in those days,
those times.
I want to know that I am not alone,
and that this house is full.
I want to be back there again,
so much that it hurts,
but what’s worse is doing there’s nothing I can do,
I want to be back there again,
when it felt I was doing right,
simply by existing.
I want to be back there again,
when I was whole,
and it felt as if the beauty of our souls,
was to be together,
all laid out, and just as I’d dared to think;
‘forever’,
it came crashing down
and there was silence all around,
save for the crying.
Let him love you, oh do,
and take what he has to give,
love is not to demand but to treasure.
Let him love you,
Only let him love you, do.
My home, my centre,
My very sense of self is opened by your presence.
I am here, I am awake,
And in combination,
Of my imagination and my home,
I am whole.
I am awake.
My home, my centre,
Keeper of my self,
Locked like some ancient magician, away from the world.
You know me well enough, to let me fly.
Excuse me I think I love you,
Yeah, I know, I’m drunk,
Excuse me, I think I love you,
and I know, exactly where I come,
but things are…
difficult – isn’t that always the way,
when it comes down to life,
and how we’ll go and how we’ll stay,
and I am,
still me.
Awake, alive, aware,
And I am, still me, standing right here,
looking at you,
and knowing,
that this is not how it ends,
the story goes ever on,
and one day…is not now,
and I am,
so,
awake,
alive,
aware,
of who I am.
And… I, love, you,
And yes I’m drunk,
but I thought that this was over,
guess I was wrong.
I wish…
too many things,
but this is what is so,
I wish…
that things were,
the way they seemed to be,
months ago and more,
but even if my wishes are,
a thing for thoughts and no more,
even though I must see,
the way things are,
then,
I know,
things can end.
I know,
things can begin,
as you once wrote to me.
It seems I have been unfair,
for that I’m sorry,
only know,
that I am grounded now.
You and I,
we are,
what we were,
with added extras,
nothing more,
you and I,
we are,
what we are,
with all advantage,
nothing more.
You and I,
we are,
and what we will be,
who knows,
not I.
You and I are you and I,
and this is solid certain,
How utterly bizarre.
Asleep in my bed,
theres an angel, or something,
and I feel so grounded now.
Never going to fly into that sunset,
I feel so grounded now.
Gazing To The Future
Looking a little far ahead,
Planning a bit too much,
If only time was as sensible to touch,
as we are.
We mortals who live within it’s stream,
if only it could feel,
the way we do;
when every breathe seems just slightly too extreme,
when every finger tip burns us like fire,
and every lick of every tongue
fills us with only desire.
It’s only desire
pushes me on
and only want has me returning
to that moment in the time stream
when you had me burning.
It’s only want,
such a tiny thing,
never seemed worth to dismiss it as one of the sins.
Lust,
such a simple word,
and it pushes me on,
through the streams that have us
herded like cattle,
over the grids.
Push through like sheep, over the fallen,
push through without thought, herded and stalling,
because this wind, this stream that pushes us forth,
this wind, this stream it has set our worth,
so damn low.
So damned low.
It talks with voices that I used to trust,
it talks with voices that deny this lust.
But I can hear over the moaning,
of this chill wind,
this moaning, scorning, that would rather take me back,
so some other wynd, some other dreadful beginning.
I can hear,
lips slightly parted,
that gasp,
and movement,
back when we started,
and I can see, what time tries to hide.
I can see exactly through your eyes,
to each moment,
holding on,
and what is it that makes me see this?
What is it that means I can hear this?
Perhaps noble emotions aren’t meant to last.
But I’m honest and I’m honourable
and that shall not pass.
How about this want?
This aching, aching want?
When will that, too, desist?
When will that cease to exist,
put me back in the time stream once more,
set me down in the path of the oncoming cattle,
set me down in the grid,
certain and sure that I can hear
only my own death rattle.
luvlymish
Mish's Quick Kisses 