Read POETRY of Healing and Abuse https://bnarcissisticabuserecovery.runboard.com/t19832 Runboard| Read POETRY of Healing and Abuse en-us Fri, 29 Mar 2024 05:11:22 +0000 Fri, 29 Mar 2024 05:11:22 +0000 https://www.runboard.com/ rssfeeds_managingeditor@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds managing editor) rssfeeds_webmaster@runboard.com (Runboard.com RSS feeds webmaster) akBBS 60 Read POETRY of Healing and Abusehttps://bnarcissisticabuserecovery.runboard.com/p190964,from=rss#post190964https://bnarcissisticabuserecovery.runboard.com/p190964,from=rss#post190964More poems by the same author are available here: http://samvak.tripod.com/contents.html TITLE: When you wake the morning When you wake the morning red headed children shimmer in your eyes. The veinous map of sun drenched eyelids flutters throbbing topography. Your muscles ripple. Scared animals burrow under your dewey skin. Frozen light sculptures where wrinkles dwell. Embroidered shades, in thick-maned tapestry. Your lips depart in scarlet, flesh to withering flesh, and breath in curved tranquility escapes the flaring nostrils. Your warmth invades my sweat, your lips leave skin regards on my humidity. Eyelashes clash. TITLE: A Hundred Children Tell me about your sunshine and the sounds of coffee and of barefeet pounding the earthen floor the creaking trees and the skinned memory of hugs you gave and you received. Sit down, yes, here, the intermittent sobbing of the shades slit by your golden face. Now listen to the hundred children that are your womb. I am among them. TITLE: Snowflake Haiku Where I begin your end snowflake haikus melt into crystalline awareness. I guard your quivered sleep. Your skin beats moisture. The beckoning jugular that is your mind. My pointing teeth. A universe of frozen sharp relief, the icy darts your voice in my inebriated veins in yours. TITLE: Selfdream At times, I dream myself beseiged. I rebel with the cunning of the weak. I walk the shortcuts. Tormentors clad in blood-soaked black, salute as I manipulate them into realizing their abyss. Some weep their sockets hollow, or waive their thorns. Much pain negotiated. A trading of the wounds. My chains carve metal and I am branded. TITLE: In Moist Propinquity Hemmed in our bed, in moist propinquity, 'tis night and starry and the neighbourhood inebriated, in the vomitary of our street. A woman, my stone-faced lover, a woman and her smells. The yellow haze of melancholy lampposts. Your hair consumes you. nondisclosed_email@example.com (samvaknin)Sat, 07 Jul 2012 09:11:37 +0000