Archive for the Prose Category
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First

There’s a certain shade

of teenage love

unlike any other

that time has to offer.

A passing flush

parades across the chest;

a formidable force

under the breast.

Heaving; heavy with

the weight of the First,

a confident uncertainty

of its own making

Sinking or Floating or Breaking

it becomes made.

A breathless vision;

here, well-hidden

in a canvas marred with age –

where vibrancy inevitably

has dried up like old paint

and succumbed slowly, under

silent fade.

Picture the seasoned lover

until the Last,

now warms with a pallet

of a predictable ensemble;

where a once-familiar hue

emerges as new.

Ah, the First –

a memory described

head-first deep-dive

into complete saturation,

summoned only in the tense

where once conquered all makings

now, washed from existence.

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Senses

I was asking it, even then
I pulled a man down
and in, it was my burning skin
flushed red
the d├ęcolletage said plainly
when mirroring the memory –
is it love?
The pleasure was a puzzle
upon me, that my piece could
connect with another so easily
perfectly – and yet
the picture eluded me
indeed, confuddled me
that I should write it down
back then and years later
now, still vexed –
Does good sex create love?
Or does love create good sex?

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Mirror Mirror

I met a girl
who, like me
in her early teens
was lost for love
and filled herself up
with forgotten names
as hovering, breathless faces
left her empty.

I met a girl
who claimed to be
the huntress
skillfully tracking
fair game
through clever words
and skillful fingers
now sticky with regret.

I met a girl
like a whisp of smoke
easy in the breeze
the evidence long-settled
like yellowing
soul stains
as her secret sadness
campaigned without purpose.

I met a girl
who hid it well
with rich laughter
and hardening lines
time framed eyes
who finds comfort
to recall
it hurt… but she loved it all.

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