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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