The Bell Tolls

cone12-28-07-3

At the nape of your neck.. my pale fingernails linger in thin curls..

softly pressing you into my cheek..

your ear to mine..

around my shoulders you rest..

tender grazing on soft sheets..we wrap each other..

we hold and console

carefully concealing one another..

tightly safeguarding…

At times, I am underneath you.. hiding and retreating, guarded, kept warm and protected

At times, I become your wings..stretching myself wide on top of you..allowing you to float..to relax..to drift

We take turns lifting each other

We take turns breathing for the other

Tender kisses blend with sour tears

pained and silent

………..we make love

While the walls are crashing to the ground

While bombs are blasting and shots are firing

amidst screams..

………..we make love

While fires are burning and corpse lie uncovered in the streets

………..we make love

with shell casings at the foot of the bed and war ravaged photographs on the pillow

………..we make love

with a black-hooded victim huddling in the corner; dawning torn feet and lacerated hands

with orphan children crying underneath the bed

while the floor boards are rattling and the earth is shaking

while the Regime is at the door and the sirens are wailing…

………..we make love

with hundreds of gas-masked covered faces..peering through the windows

………..we make love..

Desperately revolting against the hour

Fighting minutes by seconds to reclaim lost innocence

The ticks tock louder..and then… The Bell tolls…

(Times up)..with angst we face each other

I leap from the bed onto bloody execution stones..

grab the pistol, posters, banners, and bullhorn..

He grabs the vest, machetes, rifle, and phones..

….a blown kiss..and out separate windows we fly.

 

 

(“The Revolution WILL NOT be Televised”..just whispered through the hearts of the TRUE REVOLUTIONARIES.”

 

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Plucking Daisies

plucking daisies

He loves me, He loves me not… Yep.

Biting my lip at the thought of happenstance. The thought of convenience, the thought of “In the Moment”, the thought of loneliness or wanting. Maybe, a lustful thought that lasted longer than expected. Maybe, the thought that it would only last a night, a week, a month and then “IT” would be over. But, I left no easy way out. Darn. Was I too nice? Too predictable, too easy, too sweet, too enticing, maybe too unpredictable, too complicated, too threatening, too ugly?
Did I push, Did I pull? Was I pitied? Did I frighten? Did I threaten? Was I harsh? Were my hands too cold? My back too hot?

Maybe, I was a thought of age and time, or a clocks hand (Tick Toc, Tick Toc) Maybe the motor oil that you never bought. Maybe, the exercise plan that you never started. Was I the hidden bill behind the dresser? The missing shoe? The satin sheets that “YOU” never liked?

Last Petal….Last Daisy…It’s the Last PETAL, on the LAST F’N DAISY!..

nothing.

Between my fingers it fell, dangled and whirled in the wind, silently, slowly, it drifted to the ground…No more questions…It’s over.

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