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Image for the poem After Aftershocks

After Aftershocks

My body is a loud thing.
With its aching muscles, sheen of sweat -
With breath after heavy breath,
It aches and screams,
"More"
To the quivers and shakes,
"More"
To the tides washing whispers
Of "I can't,
I can't, I can't
Please,
I can't"

But I -
I do anyway.

My body is a quiet thing.
Like the times with guitars,
And honeyed voice in melodies,
It ripples quietly.
Its eyes closed...
Its fingers tapping,
Voice singing along -
It quietly
Simmers in ecstasy,
With no real big end...
But silence after the last note that lingered,
That teases, that makes it anticipate the covers.

My body knows its master.
The mind.
The lilts and subtleties of words and touches
Or the sudden deaths, and marks, and scratches -
Embedded in the head.
The heat and chills of the body dancing -
The tensing,
Releasing -
My body practiced the steps too well.

And when I
Come
Apart,
I find no one to hold me
Through the aftershocks...
Written by thepositivelydark
Published
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