Charmed Chaos

And yet– nothing is real.

I cannot caress your skin, memorize its texture, feel the heat of your manhood rising from my silky touch

I cannot kiss your moist lips, taste their essence, swallow Amrita with you

I cannot gaze into your hungry eyes and fall deeper, deeper, deeper drowning in the tempestuous pool of liquid  blue

I cannot sense your trembling while you await my delicate fingers, knowing what they can and will do

If I want, want, want, you enough–Will it make it so, will you then be real?

So you see, you’ve ruined it now for me, for I’ve become a petulant spoiled child — I want it all, I want to feel, feel, feel

And yet– nothing is real.

©2018 Linda Lee Lyberg

d’Verse Poetics:

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1026. The simplicity of winter has a deep moral. The return of Nature, after such a career of splendor and prodigality, to habits so simple and austere, is not lost either upon the head or the heart. ~John Burroughs

Sacred Touches

Winter is the slow-down
Winter is the search for self
Winter gives the silence you need to listen
Winter goes gray so you can see your own colors…
~Terri Guillemets

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What is your color? Do you know? If you do, do you like what you see? If you don’t,maybeyou should give some thought as to why. For what colors us, colors our world and the way in which we respond to those around us. Perhaps like me, the seasons determine your colors, which I’m given to believe is a good thing. I rather like the idea of being a whole spectrum of colors as opposed to being a monotonous stream of only one or two. Whether such things matter is not the true import of my discourse here however. As Guillemets suggests we truly do need time to slow down, time to rest, time to listen, time to reflect on…

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