Sunday, July 13, 2014

Dormant Volcanos

How many more days will I pretend to be ice when I am as volcanic as flesh and blood and lust and tears; and love.  

If I promise everyone none of me, and you all divide the pieces, no one will be tempted to follow me into the woods when I flee from this face I've painted on.  That will be safe.  Safe as stones and rushing waves and cliffs, and drowning properly.

I cannot find the pictures of the stranger in her wedding dress.  But, I found some of you that make me feel like I'm spying on a lover's dream.

With every stab of spoon to frozen vodka rum apple juice something, I'm building up a really quite uniquely clever humor that cloaks the look that was upon my face a moment ago.  But, as I sit here, stand here, lean there, lay there, I cannot help but wonder what it might be like if someone laughed a little with me.

1 comment:

  1. You don't need to wear a mask of ice. Your heart of fire, the light that shines so far is a welcomed surprise. So is the shadowed light of your heart; like the new moon you wait now and then for reflection, only to turn and again shine.

    You are like the phases of the moon, both dark and bright; each day you wax and wane.

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