Filed under: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Esme Writes | Tags: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Dudes, Love, Poetry, sex, traffic
So things began and then
they ended just as suddenly
it’s not the turn of seasons
but more like the swap of color
on those damn traffic lights
that seem to make my drive
home an hour longer than need be.
Things ended and then they began
and I couldn’t help but to talk about
who and what with whomever
it’s just the nature of the situation,
you know?
It’s just how these things are,
I guess.
So I’ll sit and radiate all these feelings,
that could be like seasons or traffic lights,
out into the universe
simply because
one day I want to wake up and not
be worried by it,
anymore.
Just be.
With someone.
Someday.
Soon,
I guess.
Filed under: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Esme Writes | Tags: 30 Poems in 30 Days, Esme Writes, Poetry, sex, writing
I really miss it
when it gets to the point
where there are no awkward pauses or fumbling
with wrappers or digging frantically
through bottom drawers
when it gets to the point
where it just turns into the slow shift
high tide rolling in from the depths
a slow soft quiet murmur that
explodes like those fireworks we never
got close enough to
to get burned
just got a little warm
the afternoons on painkillers
outside in the open
wide open
lots of words that burst in the back of throats
that sound like growls
buttons tearing from shirts and hems fraying
the sounds vaguely rising from back
behind the thickness of it all
the widening of eyes pupils
shivers and goosebumps in all the right places
it all happening in all the right places
hands and fingers and lips and teeth and tongues
all the right places
all over
I really miss it
…
this one is unfinished.
Esme Writes. 