06 August 2008


Grit  ~~01 November 94
Grimy Fingers
            Groping  invading  prying
            Clumsily  poking    prodding
Her flesh

Yet she thinks of caresses
            Soft, warm dresses

            Smells of bread baking
            And sugar-spun cinnamon buns

            Honey-lemoned tea

            Light, tinkling laughter
            And ice-cubes

            And music
            Sweet, high, and clear
As the cold summer’s night in which she spends her Now.

Dirt, Stone, Glass
            Driving   biting     scraping
Her back
Dank Darkness clings to her
Filling her nostrils
Blinding her frantic senses
Cloaking the interchangeable rutting Figure
            Bearing down on her
            Heavy     repulsive

And yet she feels caresses
            Loving, light, and sweet

            Smells the warm buttered bread and buns

            Tastes the sticky sweetness of the iced tea
Cold as the autumn Pavements that await her.

            Short     guttural
Abrade her ears

Hot        fetid Breath
Gusts into her face
Blasting her cheek raw

Slick      wet Heat
Rises      spills onto her
Making her skin crawl.

Yet, she clenches her teeth
Setting her jaw
Steeling herself
For This.

Such Grit.

1 comment:

  1. Amazing.  Know you are having moments.  Try to focus on the whole you have become, hon.  Here, here, here for you.


Thanks for taking the time and effort to let your thoughts be known!