soulhearts

Tell me that story again, the one about kissing my pulse down out of my neck into your fingers. Tell me again how you’ll drag my beating heart like a fever over my breasts to my belly and down my belly one throbbing finger after another, and put them away in me until my whole body beats for wanting yours. Lay down here and bare my throat and tell me that story again.

A language is not words only, it is the stories that are told in it, the stories that are never told.

Tell me that story again, the one about kissing my pulse down out of my neck into your fingers. Tell me again how you’ll drag my beating heart like a fever over my breasts to my belly and down my belly one throbbing finger after another, and put them away in me until my whole body beats for wanting yours. Lay down here and bare my throat and tell me that story again.

Don’t come to me thinking I want what’s best for you… I have an emptiness in me, and before it pleases, it hunts. Before it caresses, it eats.

“I think I could turn and live with the animals, they are so placid and self contained; I stand and look at them long and long. They do not sweat and whine about their condition; They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins; They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God; Not one is dissatisfied-not one is demented with the mania of owning things; Not one kneels to another, nor his kind that lived thousands of years ago; Not one is responsible or industrious over the whole earth.”

Raindrops fall between broken branches, grasping rough edges in a gentle grip. These trees grew tough in times of war, strengthened boughs stand proud and tall. This sadness isn’t lonely.