It's only when I frame you into language that the nonsense starts.
Until then,
you are the ant tickling your way across my ankle
and the pebble wedged between the crevices of my flip flop and the flesh of my big toe
You are the heartbeat in the waves washing on the shore,
rise, fall, rise fall, rise
You are the distorting liquid mirror enlarging what lies beneath so objects are bigger and nearer than they may appear
The swell of desire once expended that crashes into sound and foam and leaves darkness in its memory
only to rise again from wake to crest
to grow and glow and crash
You are the soft round swell of breasts encased in lemon yellow nylon bikini frame - proud declaration of femininity
the length of long tanned leg and the scar and softly jelled belly swollen with acceptance of passions existing beyond a diet of supermodel numbness
You are Hunger rising from depths with a soft rumble growling for the arms of My Man
You are the squint needed to gaze at the far side of the hill
treed velvet sweetness, rock crag of raw unglazed power you, the green thirsting leaf curling at the edges from a gnarled arm extended
discarded pine cone, left where fallen
You are the white at the center of a thirsting tongue needing sustenance
the silver adornment placed about my wrist
wet shake of a happy dog's fur, smile of a child.
You are the clean fresh smell of nothing.
You are the pieces that are seen and felt and tasted
Words not spoken
Existence,
You are.
It's only when I frame you into language that the nonsense starts.
About the Creator
Leigh Macfarlane
With a Creative Writing MFA, Leigh loves writing, photography, music, family, animals, stargazing, swimming, coffee, chocolate. She raised 4 children, bravely works in a daycare and hates car problems. Mosquitoes and Lily the dog love her
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