Sometimes writing is like slipping
off your clothes
in the waning light of day
effortless
exhalation on a sigh
but most often it is retching
in solitude
a heaving up of your insides
results that are never pretty
generally painful
but necessary
relief
momentary
until all that bubbles up
furiously
is expelled
finding purchase
upon the page
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
I want to know
the thoughts that linger in his mind
when night closes in.
Do they render him sleepless,
his mind a hive
of activity,
plans and conjecture,
a body fitful with want;
or is he able to pull them
about him,
like a blanket,
feeling every soft pass
against his skin,
an inaudible sigh within
pleasure pulling him deep into dreams.
I want to know
the thoughts that linger in his mind
when night closes in,
I want to know
if they are of me.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
Every step
is one upon a precipice
when you’ve no knowledge of the path
optimism
fueled with bravery
footfall, a deep breath of the unknown
never knowing
where it will land
solid ground
or air
blind choice
another day to become
more
better or
swift freefall
courage comes with confidence
in myself
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken from Recovery Resources, Australia via Google Images
It starts slow —
tentative touch
blooming
with color across your skin.
Like a meadow in summer,
thoughts that meander
gradually becoming
a steady hum
as he takes up residence.
A delicious
jolt
whenever you happen upon him
coursing through your veins,
pulsing beneath your skin.
Not simply desire
or respect
nor even tender regard,
but an
awakening
to him
and to yourself.
With every breath.
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph taken by SirenSong1208
The older I get,
the more I realize
how like the sea I am.
That liquid expanse of horizon –
always blue to me,
melancholic with longing,
a churning, churlish mass of feeling;
everything happening beneath the surface,
much like my own insides.
A soul at turns calm or chaotic,
but as quickly as it is stirred,
it bellows forth, a tempest of emotion
releasing and gentling itself.
Changeable tides,
ebbing and flowing as response,
some inner metronome
keeping a steady beat
like my heart.
:
Copyright © SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Photograph taken from White Noten, unsourced
She has
curves he loves
to grip;
holding her
close to his chest,
resting
in his lap.
He caresses her,
his fingers
knowing
which strings to
pluck
strum
tease;
to make the most beautiful music.
He makes her sing sweetly.
Sometimes
she is accarezzévole,
whispering tenderly;
other times
she is played con affetto,
roaring with passion
abandon
giving her all.
But whichever way she sings
to him,
her voice,
her song
is just for
him.
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved
Art taken from verycoolphotoblog.com
Smooth
like silk
nary a ripple
his composure
on point
always a reason
to be unavailable
distant
but still
holding onto her
it’s only a game
when she is wise to you
she becomes the problem
suddenly she’s quiet
and passive aggressive
but she’s familiar with
this dance
the one that backs her
up against the wall
mea culpa
hovering
upon her lips
:
Copyright ©SirenSong1208
All rights reserved.
Photograph by SirenSong1208
