Chthonian Skin

If I could touch you now,

I’d touch your face,

find your cheek

pressed into a plum

when you smile

so softly.

The scent

the soft brush

the round curves

the raised coat

of your skin.

My skin crawls,

seeking touch.

To turn it off is futile.

Never turning the key - IS the key.

Mindfulness in the moment -Is the lock.

So lock it.

How can a hunger start so softly,

and reach so deeply,

through the surface of a well?

Foreign and unformed:

hidden

in chthonian skin.



But feeding or fasting,

will it abate,

negate

or satiate?


To live with crawling skin,

a hungry well,

takes an open heart:

Touch my heart, to quiet my head,

perhaps then I can think myself fed,

and lay my skin to rest

upon the memory of your chest.



.(Chthonic: of or relating to the underworld in pre-Apollonian religion, from earth-based religions.)

why write?

To bring darkness to light

and put to rest the night

to focus youth's might

to make beauty bright

to bring form to sight


to set a wrong right

to charge a fight



to propel flight

to seek a height

to burn a blight

to open insight

(Missing my Muse, I had to turn off the angry tapes running in my head.  One way I do this is to explore the wilderness.  How do you find your muse?)

Anger is only...

a momentum you feel

on the last straight spoke

of a broken wheel.

a tool to dispel

the rain hitting level

under the umbrella.



a pill to make you ill

when hard feelings

can’t get their fill.

an interim storm

of desert grit

to keep words warm.

an instant switch

to start a charge

with a hurl of spit.

a shocking drug

you shouldn’t share

off the chopping block.

How do you deal with anger?  What makes you incessantly angry?  hmmmmm.........I could go on and on and on, why don't you?