poetry, silence, stoicism, strength, women

Filed under silence

I will keep

All our secrets

But not dwell on them

Too often

Enough

Like sips

To moisten the lips

But there is a beast

Which knows no restraint

And there are people

Monsters who would find

Meat and marrow

In releasing him

So, curation

Falls to a tender, attentive

Librarian

Filed under silence

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art, bath, beauty, creative writing, desire, emotion, erotic poetry, loneliness, love, lust, man, masculinity, passion, poetry, psychology, seduction, sensuality, short fiction, short stories, silence, social media, stoicism, strength, Uncategorized, wisdom, women, writing

Reflections in two mirrors

He sent them to be seen by her. That he had tangible proof of his commitment to his purpose and his growth. Each session, each rejection of easy but costly temptation was there in the heft of his pectorals, the lines and striations in his hip flexors and the way that the softness around his jawline was disappearing. He loved the reaction, knowing that she carried the coiling heat of want within her. A talisman against the bland sweep of days. He could not fake the look in his eyes, in a moment sourced in purest expression of his primal, sexual self. Such awareness and acceptance was rare, he had denied it before, but now he was comforted and protected by it.

She struggled with it. She knew the angles to offset the parts of herself that remained distasteful to her. Her body rebelled with the marks of time, but his reaction cast its  magic over her. A litany of informed praise, fuelled by want rather than need. Through him, she saw herself and it rubbed raw against everything else around her. A sweet pain, an eroticized grief that in its rejection, left deep scars that only he would be able to heal.

Now the mirror, the chain of static images connects them both and they pretend it is not there for the sake of sanity.

It remains though, and it would take so little yet so much to pick it up again and feel its comforting, powerful weight.

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creative writing, poetry, silence, writing

Silence

Everyone has an opinion

A right to be heard

But when all anyone does is

Scream, even the tiny bones

In your ears soften to wax

Taking stock

A guarded retreat

To the calm places within

Watching

The brown foaming anger

Thick glistening chunks of outrage

Bobbing on its churning surface

Congealing against the walls

Under your nails

No matter how hot you run the water

No, locking the door

A book is picked up

A moment where eyes are shut

And the savage dogs of gratification

Are fed with the notion of a peace

That will come in time

Watching the shadows grow thick

Fed upon the prickling anxiety

That leaves like a fever sweat

Silence is armour

When the world stands at the gate

And calls for blood

Light a candle

When it is too dark to read

But what do you light

When it is too dark

To speak?

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