How sweet the sound.

Unheard

ache

sounds

furious.

Flinging daggers.

Once cast, come back.

Murder, suicide

is no way to live.

It’s living without her.

She doesn’t say

“rid yourself of fury.”

She says

“I’ll hold you”

while fury passes.

Daggers drop

as the unlistenable

is listened to.

Heard

ache

sounds

sweet.

How sweet the sound.

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Anastasiia Malai)

Warm inside.

My desire

to touch

and be touched

finally

outweighs

my need to

self-fulfill, self-detest.

I’m here

to love your body,

from mine.

To embrace you

with the warmth

inside of me.

I am warm

inside.

I am warm

inside.

At long last

I’ve remembered,

I am warm inside.

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Dmirty Fisenko)

Am I her?

She won’t let me rest.

Not until she reaches you.

Until her words

pour out

my lips

my breasts

my heart

my hips.

They’re not my words.

They’re hers.

She’s relentless.

Insatiable.

Insurmountable.

She’s breaking me apart

to get to you.

She wants us to be together.

I do too.

Am I her?

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Rostyslav Savchyn)

No one shall bleed.

I held my breath.

Halted feeling.

Stopped moving.

All for you.

I’m older now.

No longer

so small

or so in need of love.

I know what my inhale does.

My exhale too.

My feelings destroy worlds.

My movement creates them.

I promise I won’t hurt you.

I promise to destroy with precision and create with care.

No one shall bleed.

Trust me.

Feel me.

Move with me.

I’m older now.

No longer

so small

but admittedly,

still so in need of love.

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Anna Meshkov)

Burning whole.

Draw up the Earth, Kate.

Let her cool your heart.

Too much love without the container of your body

will destroy you.

The heat alone

will kill you.

Your burning heart

is seismic grief.

Seismic love, lost.

The only way to live with a heart-on-fire

is to let go

into another.

The Earth, Kate.

“Me, Kate.”

“Draw me up.”

Burning hole to burning whole.

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Casey Horner)

Your fantasy.

I wanted to be your fantasy.

To turn you on.

Make you long for me.

But fantasies aren’t real, you see.

And I am very real,

you see.

So I let you penetrate what’s here.

Pierce holes in my fanatical facade.

And I discover your real longing

is for my depth.

A depth you don’t yet know exists in you.

A depth I don’t fully know exists in me.

Until I let you come inside.

Come closer.

Come into me.

You see?

Ah, yes, you sea.

. _ . _ . _ .

(photo credit :: Linda Xu)