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Whispers (Predatory Exasperations rev. 4) [Nov. 30th, 2004|09:10 am]
Female Friends

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[smileypillsbury]
[Current Mood |creative]
[Current Music |(improved after poetry slam competition on sunday...)]

Whispers (Predatory Exasperations rev. 4)
note: italicized text, is soft… wafts off the lips… like fog in winter, building to crescendo like a symphony.


whispers...
bind my memories...
envelope my consciousness...
develop snapshots

reminiscent of stale chronicles long forgotten.


chica racka, chica boom...


puzzle pieces
blanketed by desires,

passionate embraces --
second skins left at
death’s door.


hushed symphonies, intricate simplicities...


predatory exasperations,
permeating exteriors,
bringing life to vacant shells --
panting for air,
yearning for each other’s touch.


it’s been so long, since we sang a song -- together...






twin suns encompassing
a singular moon,
reinforcing illuminations,

composed of stained glass imperfections.


exuberance, accomplishment...


overlapping shadows
produced by disoriented bookends,
with shelves extending
caressing each silky volume --
that strains to shield coffee stained pages,
from future transliterations.


leaves drained of influence...


thrusted and nudged,
the soft delicate layers
of your living cloth,
wrinkling under pen strokes
that crave to breach
your golden striations --
stockades of life’s citadels.


hording nucleic treasures, flesh hides wheezing truth...





driving lovers crazy,
enormous eyes
engulfing pages,
of previous indiscretions --
books without covers...
holy wars.


strength, heartache...


scribing trophies,
false gods --
washing form
onto mantelpieces
and creating awareness.








sometimes,
you can still hear the volumes whisper,
as though all stories,
end up as camp fire legends...

a boom, chica boom...

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