he wouldn’t kiss her
but he’d screw her blind
slam her with poetry
blowing her mind
thrusting with phrases
up against the wall
spotlight trained
pants around ankles
no whispers
or platitudes
nothing empty
everything full
bursting with life
coming with applause
she’d scream for more
he’d softly rhyme
she’d cry out
exhilaration
he’d repeat more of the same
streams of consciousness
trickling under skirts
Latin and nonsensical praise
leading to a finale
starburst poetry
where skin met skin
tendril
tendril
gathering thoughts
in the dark morning
sputtering rain
outpacing the heartbeat
waking with a tendril
afraid to move
for fear of losing it
what was that phrase?
it had been perfect!
now it was a garbled mess
with opening hands
the tendril
was free to roam
she quaked
throwing the coat over a chair
throwing propriety right out the fucking door
bourbon burning a memory in her throat
she unfurled what was kept in a tight coil
all day
stripping bare
she closed her eyes and danced
swaying gently at first
slowly with her hips
keeping time
her heavy breasts
marking an aching rhyme
her lower lip
in her teeth
she felt the beat
moving more forcefully, righteously
she took over the room
in a primal flash
she was all and nothing
she held answers with no questions
the chair was empty
but she was not
the music quieted and faded to nothing
but her thrumming continued
as the very room quaked with her
for her
I’m lost
the taste has faded
my mouth is stale
my face is covered in dried, crusty tears
it’s chilly in the house now
very quiet
there’s a light snow covering the ground
muffling even the deer’s footsteps
I’m lost
don’t know where to turn
the one candle I’ve lit
is hard to take
it hurts my eyes
will it always be this way
will I always feel empty
rattling abandoned like a ghost
in a house whose shadows keep me company
the creaks and moans echoing voices I sometimes catch
whispering dirges in spring, awaiting winter
I want to sing along to the strange tunes
but there are no words
for mists and dirges
as they creep through me and the old house
lost, we’re lost, abandoned
not done with the moon
oh please turn it down
all the noise
every damn morning
I’m trying to say goodbye
to the moon
she’s still hanging in the sky
telling me tales I missed in my sleep
before the sun wakes
peeking above the hills
the moon and I aren’t done yet
with the night
The Word Rummager 