ampoule
01-01-2008, 10:08 AM
Torte
Shhh...come with me now.
Like sprites we hop around each other.
Let us go run into the woods, hiding together.
I stumble, breathless, covering my mouth to stifle my silly giggles.
I watch you stand, dropping all of your rewards to the cold, hard reality,
and you take my hand, pulling me up, saying,
I've shown you mine, now show me yours.
Shhh...stop it now.
I stammer and blush for I am shy, sorry
I started this game because I don't really want to play,
I was just kidding, but you are serious now, stepping forward,
pleading my truth with your eyes, patiently I hear your breath, in and out,
so slowly, and I reach for the button at my neck,
not to tease, but to wait for you to take it all in.
Shhh...don't cry, I hear you say.
I see in your face though, each layer removed,
wonderment, disgust, even laughter, tears perhaps,
Clinging to that final veil, your soft words help it slip from my shoulders,
and it floats to the ground like a feather caught upon the wind, my eyes closed,
afraid to look to see if you are still there,
the sweet slice cut forever now.
.
.
ampoule, January First, TwoThousandEight
Shhh...come with me now.
Like sprites we hop around each other.
Let us go run into the woods, hiding together.
I stumble, breathless, covering my mouth to stifle my silly giggles.
I watch you stand, dropping all of your rewards to the cold, hard reality,
and you take my hand, pulling me up, saying,
I've shown you mine, now show me yours.
Shhh...stop it now.
I stammer and blush for I am shy, sorry
I started this game because I don't really want to play,
I was just kidding, but you are serious now, stepping forward,
pleading my truth with your eyes, patiently I hear your breath, in and out,
so slowly, and I reach for the button at my neck,
not to tease, but to wait for you to take it all in.
Shhh...don't cry, I hear you say.
I see in your face though, each layer removed,
wonderment, disgust, even laughter, tears perhaps,
Clinging to that final veil, your soft words help it slip from my shoulders,
and it floats to the ground like a feather caught upon the wind, my eyes closed,
afraid to look to see if you are still there,
the sweet slice cut forever now.
.
.
ampoule, January First, TwoThousandEight