from the month of november

the cool drop of silence

lands softly on lips,

icebergs of a secret life lying

between the dirty sheets.

the itch of a feeling,

sweaty on vapid skin.

scratching for meaning

finding only a gap

one cool drop of silence-

a scent left burning on your skin.

i didnt remember writing this until i read the words slowly and began to cry again.

from the moment you enter this world,

you are alone.

when you are young-the branches

of trees hold you close.

the grass beneath you hums a 

melody only you percieve.

then the storm comes- and

you enter the sea.

the branches around you break.

the sea haas a current that drags you-

along,

a path you never would have taken.

the gills you've been given

breathe silently on their own.

imagine the coors that life feels.

 lying in the grass the soft prickle on the sensitive underside skin of thighs is an electric orange landmine. The ant, facing the obstacles of hair on a fleshy path, gentle footprints leave behind a soothing yellow sensory path. Burning cream the sun light heat covers skin like a silk scarf, delighting every cell. The cool breeze rustling the leaves cooly greets supple skin- the skin following the breeze wit a wave of raising flesh mounds. like a whispering cloud of smoke the breeze resigns from the skin.

take refuge in the shade of an elm tree.