for those who wander, wonder & define life on their own terms

Poetry

Still She Loves

Still She Loves

Poetry
  She knows.  She listens to time that he finds so fascinating.  The tick and tock scream the passing of every second.  His moments - devious, present, orgasmic and full; Hers -     a......slow........dragging......through.....hell - a red light when you're late for a job where you've already been written up for tardiness. In the space of her 4th chakra, there is a chamber that echoes the pain and knows that his 2nd chakra is oblivious right now, wrapped up like it is in his pleasure.  She smells the leather of her sofa death, imagines his post-coital calm as he sleeps in another dimension, and she lies torturously awake.  Yesterday seemed safe and free...tethered to the earth by magic thread, so that they could explore without being lo
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