ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
She stands on the pavement, and her eyes are bright and open; blue, like tomorrow's morning skies. They shine wet and sharp with points of light from around her. Her pupils are dark, like those pools of night tide water I find when I wander her shores, touched by my toes to watch the ripples echo the moon lit clouds. The skin of the eyelid, among the thinnest and softest of the body and containing the most pigment of any flesh, is shadowed dark and colored deep grey running lighter on the upper lid. Her hands have labored with softest brush to do this art. My mouth will meet them and soft dust from them like the powders of a butterfly will coat my lips and I will taste it. And her hair so soft and floating brown, high lit with strands of different golds, will coast and form around her on a linen pillow where my arms and hands will wander and clutch, and it will slide gossamer through my fingers. And her arms are opening now, and I will fall into them and we will roll and toss together like the great ocean along the shore. I will be held within them, now safe and carried and warmed, and lay upon her shoulder, its curve a sweet place my mouth will search and taste and curry favor in. And I am rushing to her and crashing white and bubbled and foaming to touch and wash upon her. Her teeth are bright and delicious and my mouth is with hers; our lipstick's flavor and color a match and joined together. My tongue so pink and narrow at its tip is between her lips and her teeth are on it holding it in place while her own tongue caresses mine. Her hands are on me now, and later they will explore and caress and communicate her desire; mine clutch her, pulling her tight against me. Our mammal skin, ours the only life so smooth and fragile and sensitive and needing the comfort of each other, fits together and shares our desire. And we embrace and breathe into each other and join, and in the morning will wake and laugh and know that we have mingled and are now one. We will share and show and lift and carry each other, our moments stretched out like her legs so long on the cream linen of her bed. Knowing the rush of time we will open and present ourselves and know each other in manners that intimacy, as a word, does not confine. And her breath will quicken, and her body toss, and she will become me and I she. Those instants will join us, and in evenings we will repeat this song. We run together now, moving faster, the sound of our steps echoing, and her door is open and we are inside each other, and the spice smell of her is in my mouth and her legs wrap tightly; and we fit together in perfect motion. Her chest is heaving, and my breasts are gripped tightly, and I am lost with her and around her and she is all that there is and now, and now, and now. And we perspire, and we slide together and my hands are filled with longing and my lips are filled with throbbing and my legs part for her knee. And she leans back and she cries out and I feel like all of heaven has opened and lays in waiting for my heart to clutch at and draw it into me.
And the flowers we will send and the letters left on table tops in the sun, and the clothing we will wear, and the places we will be, and the ocean's roll and thunder, and the hooves upon the turf, and the leaves in wind and rain, and the sounds of sleeping children, and the taste of salt and berries, and the feel of you and me, are all that I desire, are all that I will ever be. And as the sun rises, behind the mountains above us, and lights the ocean, shore, and city; as it lights your face and skin and eyes, settles in my chest and lights a place untouched by others; settles in and softly speaks, and whispers with my voice to you; moves air in patterns, like the foam, left on the beach, beside the sea.
© Amanda 2011 "The Girl Desired"
8/2011
for you my woman of water
Mature Content
.April ending.
.April ending.
Twitter™ is also like this, her search through detritus layers of life; linear in procedure. Time as lines, the TL: a wanted sequence for us to cling to even knowing the quantum cosmology of particle and wave mechanics. Twitter does not randomly present us. Neglecting even the theme sequence groupings which is a more likely portrayal of our natures.
It is left to us to paint our own contrails.
Across her words lay themes, not necessarily unique or original, but hers. An underlying hum of message machinery, not to be heard but sensed, felt.
The longing for the extraneous 'power' to which we cling, adhere, our desire fo
. backgrounds .
. backgrounds .
eat me play me
.
"And it feels as though God has abandoned you … in a stark place."
-A. Christie-
.
.
An arrangement of pieces, choreography of accidental encounters each of which denied them a presence or indicated any possible progress.
.
I do not command, I obtain.
.
She'd belittled the Plath of me, that small measure which i yet adored; that then, became a tipping point in our conjectured inevitability.
.
in crush
you lick
the soil soul of
my backgrounds
.
I'll make you quiet.
.
slicing through the young
smiling
alcohol ghost
.
I'll make you run.
.
driv
.upon surrender.
.upon surrender.
.
... only she knows ...
.
The art of losing isn’t hard to master;
so many things seem filled with the intent
to be lost that their loss is no disaster.
E.Bishop
.
i sang
.
touch stones without remark tumbled
one after another
pathway footsteps
unnoted
one
after
another
no clack of disapprovals shed
one after another
creek bed’s
surrender
ocean’s
slickened
staid
.
as though i were an insult though they never spat me out
as though i were a crime they'd committed in dead of night
as though i were several different outfits now out
.last love.
.last love.
.
Why?
because i want to see beautiful things
think beautiful things
dream beautiful things
.
.
Oh they're running t'old steam engine tour train through t'valley today. God i wish i was having coal smoke and burning cinders blowin in my face. *picturing the screaming flaming tourists beating each other*
Fuck me with a jackhammer humans ARE the funniest damn creatures. Mom to six year old child "Hurry honey get that pretty summer frock on, we've got to catch the open air tour train!" Two hours later the scorched-hair tour family clambers offa the Old Timey tour train ... "Now wasn't THAT fun!"
And you know what REALLY ma
© 2012 - 2024 Amanda-Graham