deepundergroundpoetry.com
In other words: Her words
... .Dangling on hinges of fate… .
We take notes of time by giving it power and a voice,
we’re nothing more than conduits seeking to illuminate,
because so many tear-away at the "damned" love word,
oft. This is the ambience which torments and pillages
me to mere life, .. ..henna’ed me sees it as grotesquely
beautiful in all its rawness.
∂x - Surely:
I’ve loved a time or two granted they’ve their own sacred
catacombs in the chambers of my heart perhaps, they
had no masterful plans for me …& that is quite ok…
though there were times when I’ve laid all down asking
for more
but I understand, am more of an acquired taste not
made for everyone
X∂ - in the midst of my wildlands:
they were disguised as dropletts of affection disciplining
me in diverse passions, thus somehow they are my
very own co-creators who forg’d this “demi” in fire, they
made me ‘a woman’
understanding that my soul was once unmade.. .
∂xx - ..._-... ..
no one else had the dynamism to devote this soul or
drudge my deeps for pearls.. In return, I listen’d silently
to their wounds and confessions, when the hot times
were cold/ hours morphed into pastel societies’
∂ - advocates of warmth for trade, barterers of truth:
I’d shown my bleach’d ribs only to be pinned/ spread
apart with Rose Garlands adorning my ankles… .
verb less sibilating “there is no one here to hurt you,
anymore”... forever holding each of them in my kinetic
cinders, I meaningfully ached to milk their tears
∂ii - To share philosophy of a different kind:
I wore their skin as my own and made love to their
cosmique darkness's, their differences;
dared? .. .I did
“do breathe and I will harness your shards till they shudder,
hold your fragments close till the days of your strangled
heart is no longer number’d” .. .
.. .t’was never just about me.. .
∂i - ….
my sacrifices will only ever be a symptoms of love,
nothing less - -
i∂i - there’s hate nor anger:
of course plumes of affliction emerges, but in terms of
totality all was “not” dire and for that, I've asked the high
muses for their healing, before my own
I have known love, some things can be distorted nor broken
She then quotes:
"‘A man's heart weighs 280 grams. / a woman’s the same, more or less”
-unknown
Journal Signed and pondered upon:
T’is a silent film of an evening passing through layers of
skin bleeding sepia …ask of me anything and I shall masque nothing
We take notes of time by giving it power and a voice,
we’re nothing more than conduits seeking to illuminate,
because so many tear-away at the "damned" love word,
oft. This is the ambience which torments and pillages
me to mere life, .. ..henna’ed me sees it as grotesquely
beautiful in all its rawness.
∂x - Surely:
I’ve loved a time or two granted they’ve their own sacred
catacombs in the chambers of my heart perhaps, they
had no masterful plans for me …& that is quite ok…
though there were times when I’ve laid all down asking
for more
but I understand, am more of an acquired taste not
made for everyone
X∂ - in the midst of my wildlands:
they were disguised as dropletts of affection disciplining
me in diverse passions, thus somehow they are my
very own co-creators who forg’d this “demi” in fire, they
made me ‘a woman’
understanding that my soul was once unmade.. .
∂xx - ..._-... ..
no one else had the dynamism to devote this soul or
drudge my deeps for pearls.. In return, I listen’d silently
to their wounds and confessions, when the hot times
were cold/ hours morphed into pastel societies’
∂ - advocates of warmth for trade, barterers of truth:
I’d shown my bleach’d ribs only to be pinned/ spread
apart with Rose Garlands adorning my ankles… .
verb less sibilating “there is no one here to hurt you,
anymore”... forever holding each of them in my kinetic
cinders, I meaningfully ached to milk their tears
∂ii - To share philosophy of a different kind:
I wore their skin as my own and made love to their
cosmique darkness's, their differences;
dared? .. .I did
“do breathe and I will harness your shards till they shudder,
hold your fragments close till the days of your strangled
heart is no longer number’d” .. .
.. .t’was never just about me.. .
∂i - ….
my sacrifices will only ever be a symptoms of love,
nothing less - -
i∂i - there’s hate nor anger:
of course plumes of affliction emerges, but in terms of
totality all was “not” dire and for that, I've asked the high
muses for their healing, before my own
I have known love, some things can be distorted nor broken
She then quotes:
"‘A man's heart weighs 280 grams. / a woman’s the same, more or less”
-unknown
Journal Signed and pondered upon:
T’is a silent film of an evening passing through layers of
skin bleeding sepia …ask of me anything and I shall masque nothing
Published 2nd Dec 2021
Author's Note
This was an shared entry of Noire's , I deeply appreciated her for allowing beautiful experiences and at time intense moments when we would drudge our deeps for pearls in a non judgmental atmosphere. Home.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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