I comb my drafts for moments when I was real. A crumb trail back to seconds I couldn’t feel. I throwback sour liquors and sweet wines, one small glass at a time. I tell myself the rest can flood the drain if these will just numb the brain. I wish my life away, churning day dreams. I wait for the moment when my soul detangles from yours When I can no longer feel your heart ache in my bones. I’m afraid If I can’t feel, you’ll cease to be real.
Silence sounds like … Your spirit spinning Out of control to the DJ. Your breath slowing In puffs of hazy cigarette smoke. Your heart pounding Under the soft weight of my hand. Your smile against My hair under the cold moon. The fading drops Of my rocks failing to skip. Your fingers drawing Shivering lines down my back. Silence sounds like … All those things I feel in my soul When your eyes lock with mine And we fall away from time. 143
Originally published here in Dec. 2017. The prompt at the time was silence. Today’s RDP prompt is intimate
I couldn’t let love day go by without something!
I’m in the final weeks of my grad program. Unfortunately that’s meant I haven’t been on here. But if anyone’s interested in my research on investment in clean energy let me know and I may post the presentation here for all to see!
Your soul is a percussive instrument, beating and vibrating, keeping time with the wants and needs bouncing through your mind. You’re projecting, sending pulsing signals out into the world with every move you make, vibrations in colored solar flares to tell every soul what you seek, what they can help you find. We constantly meet and crash, impressing on one another the desires of each other. When my soul met yours it beat so perfectly in tune, moving in beat exactly with mine, complementing every move we made. There was no moment, no hesitation, only total realization. You were part of me and I was part of you, there’s never been another way it could be. Your soul is a percussive instrument and it beats in perfect time with mine.
This was posted in Nov 2017, just over a year ago. It’s not perfect but I’ve always liked it. The prompt of the day was percussive (I think).
Am I crazy or is the dance driving me mad? You lead me, maddeningly, jarringly to the cusp of the stage only to quickly pull me back again. The fire leaps from my chest to your eyes but you douse it as quickly as it began. This delicate dance, fueled by such strong etiquette, seems to be overtaking mind and body. I can’t breathe when the beat is dictating how we speak. I’m not sure why we’re pretending … Or are we again? Perhaps the taptic sound is driving me mad. Your grip is giving you away. I hear the soft echoes sway off the robotic chants.
You’ll never let us fall from this stern count. Am I crazy or is the dance driving me mad?
Once upon a time we collided, as dust against shimmering specters of dust, gods amongst the heavens then. Deep within the earth’s womb, boiling magma against impenetrable mantle, burning away defense mechanisms. Trojan horses against the very walls of heaven you became, melting, molding, galaxies spinning from every shattering sigh.
How could we have seen the way we flowed, you into me, ocean tides unidentifiable against the shoreline. In a rapid, rabid elemental explosion your soul ripped into mine, gently brushing every secret we dared hide. Wrapping them in the wispy, silken age of our souls we stole away pieces of one another. Magnetic, prophetic, we could never hide forever revolving stars in our eyes.
Standing beside you silence is broken even when nothing is said. Funny isn’t it? The stars and the sky; did they dance and dive, bring cosmic planes of every color into a swirling whirling dance of lightening intensity before your eyes met mine?
Has the world always fallen silent at the beckon of your gasp, a movement so sudden and rasp, or was it just mine?
Strange thing isn’t it? To feel everything you’ve ever been step into the light of everything you’ll ever be, knowing no matter the fragility broken will never be … again …
Oh this feeling, again and again. Melodies in languages I fear I will never understand, kisses along paths I may never travel beneath moonlit branches otherworldly in their desire.
It dissipates but not into illusion, a dream of roses and foreign spring days. It sinks beneath the current, becoming the undertow, dragging us along in this sweet abandon, forever familiar. You are home. You are forever, over and over and over.
Such are the rivulets of love that stream from our silent smiles, glancing eyes, as we stand quiet, forever reaching in fear of loving alone the other.