The Smudged and Damaged Letters of His Name.

He was breathing...

I listened, legs crossed and, captured somewhere between bruised knees and twisted ankles,

was the intimacy of sleep.

I adored him, sometimes, with a need not unlike that of peeling dingy, cracked paper off the kitchen walls...

one strip gone, and my obsession for discovering what lay underneath

suffocated me.

I often wondered how many women had written his name in the desperation of attention, I wonder if they scrawled it out and stained it with teardrops, his sly smile laying in the smudges of ink....

but I never did, I never let his letters run down my page, and his name was not what fascinated me...

I found it to be

common.

He's dreaming, I suppose, I'll never see what lies beneath the skin but I'll study his fingerprints, the way he touches me so that I can grasp the beating of my own heart, so I can scribble down the lyrics that the music forgot to sing...

I'll describe the way he grazes himself across my stomach, skipped, paused and breathless.

I'll sleep sometime, past four a.m. and I'll be certain not to wake him, I'll watch his promises tumble from his open lips and try to capture them with my tongue, I'll wait and bleed...

I'll sleep and wonder...

where we're

headed.

Reviews

[Perdition]

Every breath I read jettisons me into memories I'd rather release. But like a gallery walled in Van Gogh how do you decide the room from the beauty...How do you separate the unspoken from your skin ?
My honesty is that sometimes I do wish that I had never found your poetry... that it might have been easier....but who could turn away and ours is never in the easier.

[MIB]

What can I say, excellent work. It makes you think and ponder... I love a poem that makes you think about things, this done that for me... brilliant :D

[Muse]

I had to stop and pause...lost in your fluid translike emotion. Like water...it rains on our heads..covering the reader with words of fascination and a need to listen. We listen for the next breath..the next moment you decide to pen another heart beat. I feel both pain and fascination in your poetry..perhaps thats why I keep reading.....

[Naomi Montana Walsh]

I can only say , this is real poetry , there are so many lines that sing in this one and all in harmony with the feelings you express.

[Kerwin]

A little bit haunting...and sad.

[J.P.O.et]

'the intimacy of sleep', I find that a somehow ironic statement and I love the description ofadoring 'with a need not unlike that of peeling dingy, cracked paper off the kitchen walls'to see what lay beneath. Also like the part about finding the name 'common', feel there is underlying meaning there. In the line with 'grazes...skipped, paused', there is a lot of tense change but that can be overlooked.� I like this one for all the underlying meaning and your unique style.

J.P.O.et �