Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

A Fussy Eater Decides

A path that was etched in my soul,

long ago,

is followed again,

your hand in mine,

bound for bliss,

sailing past snow covered peaks,

I am quiet,

but content.

The snow has fallen in love with us,

surrounding us wherever we go,

framing our faces,

and the places we choose to while away our Wednesday afternoon.

Christmas is coming,

and I haven’t slept for weeks,

counting down,

by the minute,

to the moment I can grant your every wish,

gentle genie,

who used to fancy freedom,

but has found contentment in the cave of wonders.

I am choosing slowly,

from a menu I’ve already memorised,

acting scandalised,

when you remark,

that there’s only one choice for me.

I know it’s true,

stifling a smile,

as you place our order,

and the snow leans against the window,

eyes warm and full of wanting.

I want the same thing I always have,

but your hands hold mine tightly,

as if they are holding prisoners.

Maybe,

I am a prisoner,

passionate criminal,

eager to escape,

but not in the way you think.

I want to run away,

with you,

to that little place,

up the mountain road.

I want cider in my glass,

and your last name on my passport.

My love,

you know my order,

so tell the waitress,

and let’s be done with the waiting.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Twin Flame

I sat,

solitary in a bar,

trying to drink away your cold hand,

from my shoulders.

Last night,

I watched my psychic,

tear you limb from limb,

and I loved it,

as much as I love you.

Loving you,

is dressing up in my best,

and drowning.

You want me,

but you want me to be alone.

I’m afraid of how acceptable I find that.

You are sitting on my shoulders,

like Britney’s snake,

hissing and sassing suitors.

I am resentful but relieved,

lighting a cigarette,

on the flames of our never ending affair.

Your hands pin mine to the bar,

I am breathless,

because I can walk out of the door,

I can leave,

I can go to the other side of the world,

but I will never be my own again.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Personal, Writing

Familiar

I was alone,

unbearably so,

until you came home,

and in an instant,

each moment felt so familiar.

Memories,

breathing on their own,

pacing the room,

chasing the fantasies that had eluded me.

The air spoke to me,

softly whispering your name,

as I fell,

free,

on familiar sheets,

heat that felt like home.

I sang along to intimate melodies,

that I knew by heart,

my heart,

fluttering and reaching for your own.

You came home,

and I cried as we fell asleep,

because,

before,

I was an autopsy,

but you created an angel,

with your kiss.