Honey Drizzled….

This man…

Honey glazed.

Serendipity filling me just from his gaze.

Bemoaning from the depths of my soul.

Fierce from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

Warm like a blazing fire on a winter mountain top.

Sugary smile, in his taunting, sultry way.

Eyes the center of the universe.

Gravitational pull, all in the palm of his hands.

Querer. My desire.

No more words to describe the glory found in him.

Silent admiration.

of his.

Honey drizzled skin.

I see him.

He see’s me.

It’s not just eye contact it’s our breath shared in sync.

Comfort in my soul.

nearer than kin.

Not a dream but reality we share.

My man and his honey drizzled skin.

 

 

Pain and Happiness

 

Daily Writing Prompt - Writers Write Creative Blog

So here I go again trying my hand at another writer prompt and my own Prompt me I dare you posts. I hope everyone enjoys, as I muster the words to edify literature of the name of the Twenty-first century.  🙂

 

…Pain

 

People try to Paint a reflection of Pain.

The color doesn’t exist.

Trying to compare blue to feelings, is beyond its untruth.

No one can come near the color of pain.

We know not of his hue.

His pigment can’t come through.

We have not enough light receptors within our eyes.

Not able to perceive its richness.

Pain is unreflective.

Hence his lack of hue.

Pain, you want me to write about the color of pain?

Pain is the color of our faces when relatives don’t return from war.

It’s also the indescribable accumulation bubbling deed in her chest when they tell her it was her fault. And is she sure she did not consent to his conquest?

Tell the doctor you can not number it either.

Scream out to society it’s not something that’s from without this things starts from within.

This silhouette of pain shrouds every one of us from fetus to the grave.

Gauging out our eyes and refusing light to come in.

Pain ain’t got no number so stop asking from 1-10.

Pain is a shadow that doesn’t know its place, He’s rude, knows no manners, and lets not his host retain a somber face.

Hey, watch out, he can make you bitter, unreasonable, indecisive, petty, and unattractive.

Guess what? None of those are colors.

No color wants to color his face.

Pain has not a color, hue, pigment, tint, and or fragment of a reflection for our eyes to pierce him in his face.

Thank God we know not of his hue because if we did He may look like you.

Like you, Me, Her, and Him. Pain might resemble us all.

Again, Thank God Pain ain’t got a hue.

 

 

 

Happiness

 

Neither bitter nor sweet.

Beautifully in between.

My taste buds have yet to arrive.

Deceitful, or better known as divine.

My taste buds have yet to arrive.

Potent and always compelling.

Dazzled, by its wonderful scent.

I was told about learning and knowing of this taste.

Yet happiness is not found in this place.

My taste buds have yet to arrive.

Come forth, I reach for this gentle taste.

Heavenly, no it’s eternal.

Relentless in its ways

I have yet to savor this taste.

 

 

I Should Have Read the Contract!

I should have read the contract

But how could I ?

It was never spoken, written, or even implied.

Still , I should have read the contract.

At least in between the lines.

 

I didn’t want to think about the fine print.

I signed in my hearts blood, mixed with oddly lolng hours.

I eluded myself.

Thinking that he was Gods gift.

 

I trwirled just for him.

Blurry.

Soon the contract started getting clear.

He enjoyed his own company.

And resisted me coming near.

He had no home, so I assumed he was alone.

 

 

No, lets be honest.

I met him alone.

 

Simply thinking,  “I’ll just be his home”.

Wistling my own tune.

Jumping and skipping along to the beat.

Not tricked, beacuse that recuires a trick.

He had no magic stick.

 

I…… carressed my thigh.

Imaging his on mine.

I should have seen the sighns…

 

I chased, but there was no hole.

Only Alice, in her own wonder-liss land.

Trying to exscape.

I chocked on my happiness.

Trying to profess him into my life, by planting seeds.

Ended up with weeds.

 

I should have read the contract.

No, I should have ripped it to shreds.

 

 

Be carful what you embrace.

A venamous, viper of a plant.

I dangled by my neck

Excreting my last short, sarrowful breaths.

This is my own fault.

I should have seen the sighns.

Or at least the pickit signs.

The over grown earth.

The desolate and sodden view.

 

A blood- orange sun that never sets.

Scarecrows, with trodden picket fence.

No life, sounds, or people for me to view.

 

As I dangle, its my hands that strangle.

The air is now thin.

Lungd no longer growing big.

Now I’m left to only fantasize.

About what our lives could have been.

I’f I headed signs.

“Warning”

“Beware, of lost boys”

“Those who rome”

“seam lost and without real homes”

“Glazed brown eyes”

These are the signs.

Fun at first.

Its a spectacular kind of high.

And hear I lay.

No longer can I complain, just a sigh.

I’m the one who let my decernment cease.