the Destruction of word(s)

The way he holds her suggests less than what she expects. An indication of different struggles meddled with. Her touch grasps for his, a frail tender moment unfolded. Uncomfortable facial features as she consumes his every reaction. A climber holds onto a ledge for dear life the way she is with his hand. Yet he breaks each motion to send her plummeting, no rescuers to reach out. Self preservation he trembles as she makes a blind grasp, reluntancy is a subconscious symbol. She has given herself to him like she was taught to do. But it makes a pale effort to his indifference. She tries to give him but his attention is rather to different times than the present. Emulating and exageration of every feature she urges for more than his frustration but fails numerous times. One scene after another he stands defeated even if he was the strongest man on the planet. Sort of a defeated slump when she hugs him. His breath slips out like a sort of last gasp. She claims to read alot she tells me later. But only articles on her beauty or about ways to get someone to notice. She wants to do what he wants. Yet he wants no part. A futile resistance and I write it down. She intoxicated by him. A pyschoanalysist might delve into her inability to be loved and what brought these feelings to tution but I sit sipping cappicino's and laugh to myself. My note pages filled to the brim with her. She is almost too much for my page to even handle. A woman that burts out and grabs you by the throat. I call that passion and the way she enchants you by following you. Watching you even when you cannot view her. She drives by your house and waits outside. To conquer a woman to have her on the floor or in your car on a sidestreet to take her moaning and doing it right. I turn red as my pencil point breaks and she stares at me I pack my stuff like a fawn in headlights.

A doleful wintry mix
sheeths of salt twine
ice bullets pounce
tapping on grates
in a rhythmic freeze--

hands warm on the heater
gush of redness swells
a certain feeling of a bluesy guitar riff
passes from cheek to cheek
a nod from each
a coat placed not on a rack
seething hands
slippery finger and toes wiggle
a sort of impecable timing
for bleeding of the crop
most fertile soil to drop seeds
passionate twithering
rough unshaven harmony
worn nipples to feed
but inside certain warmness--

piling of precipitation fornicates
as she moans on her back
he thinks of writing her letter
after all this is complete
and what it would say
and the wording of such
a sort of explanation of why
a celebration like this might not continue
loose conversations
revel in indlessness and lost marbles
she asks for his arm to hold
and he agrees for a moment--

watch the sunrise and set
it seems to not be able to decide
a gray dreary night turning over the sands
lived away from the shore
she asks if she can stay
he says no but possibly next time
when work calls no need to lay with others
his hands shake because of guilt
the summer spent with stories of travels
from one coast to another region
I should know better a stubborness in words
stronger than any alcohol
greater than any liquid in a bottle
a mythic solution of silliness--

he thought he was an island
only needing to pillage when he lay restless
fat and not so passion filled
he truly wants to weep
and think of kissing her eyelids
other men took her gently
I came upon thunder lightning bang
the bursting water lay waste to usefulness
a summer seems a lifetime away
numb to the feelings he had just felt
to look back would be a sin of some sort
an injustice to the past
no need for further injunction
but rather details to lay naked with.

Labels: agriculture, love, man, natural, nature, poetry, woman