Lock, Stock and Barrel

Give in to this temptation,

Close your lips on mine,

Hungry kisses,

They bite into me.

Your hand splayed on my belly,

Possessive, playing with my skin;

Trying to keep me down,

How long do you intend to?

You ain’t that strong.

Don’t be a bully,

Let me touch you now,

My fingers itching,

To make you burn.

Crash against my body,

Curl up within me,

Don’t ruffle my feathers,

I don’t need that right now.

What I need is you,

And I have you inside of me;

In my heart, my soul.

My dreams are made of you,

When you aren’t there,

Nocturnal dewdrops;

My whole being responds to you.

Now that you’re here,

Let’s get it over with, I can’t wait.

So just pop the gun,

Lock, stock, barrel and we’re done.

Oh, Sylvia

"I desire the things which will destroy me in the end"

~Sylvia Plath

Woman,

You are just one.

But I see a million of us,

In you. So solemn,

I would breathe you if I could,

Even though you make me catch my breath,

With the stillness in your words;

You make the world stop moving,

And the rhythm of my heart changes,

Skipping, skipping and finally returning,

To what people call a regular heartbeat.

But we don’t really know, do we?

My skin crawls,

When I see myself in you,

and then I see a million others, too.

The agony in your words,

Eventual just like death,

Slowly creeping up behind us,

Death is an ugly word;

Let us not utter it,

Bemoan that word, mourn it.

Let us all consume it,

Like it consumes the Sun,

Like it consumed you,

It ate you whole, soul and all

My Sun.

Confessions, you believed in confessions,

You told me your story, Sylvia.

I could swallow you whole,

To keep you from dying,

In me, you shall live.

But you are not mine to keep.

Death came to you, but

Let us not speak of death just yet,

It is an ugly word,

Oh, Sylvia.

The end of trying

Overwhelming feelings

It’s a poet’s wet dream

Never before, don’t need it after

Puke on paper

These overwhelming feelings

Testing times, testy rhymes

What do you know of sadness?

My soul asks me.

I know enough to write a poem

I snap angrily.

It will be a miracle

When these eyes stop streaming

Tears enough to satisfy a parched land

But not enough for my own dry throat.

Sad songs help some

Guttural moans are released then

I feel animal like passion.

Crazy eyes search, but never find

Even a trace of compassion.         

When do I stop crying?

Should I quit complying?

I’m tired of lying,

Does this poem signify,

The end of trying?

Of Love, Insanity and Living a Lie.

I bask in the sunlight falling on your skin,

Press it down into you, to warm your soul,

I tap the moments of lightness,

The breeziness moves me,

I fall back into much needed numbness.

You slither towards me, still asleep;

Your body slumps against mine in righteous possession.

Your eyelashes flutter on my flesh,

Bringing me goose bumps; good times.

Had a little too much wine last night,

It made us realise this can’t go on forever.

We have to move on, darling,

This is not the way of the world,

This is not right, unacceptable;

Obsessing about things long gone.

We still yearn for release,

That we seem to find only when together

It’s such a relief,

To find solace in your arms.

If only for sometime, you are mine,

You blow my mind and I blow yours,

Minds are not needed for what we do.

Ravaging the passion,

Trying to get it over with;

But we fail.

It’s not something that ends,

Brutal hunger.

This can’t go on, forever now.

Get on with your life, baby

Pick up the pieces and run away.

I have to be on my way,

As what I am and what I was,

Is now dead and gone.