Pluto ‘n Saturn

Tuesday, September 23, 2014 at 4:12 pm

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It’s dirty work being a lover, seems there is always something missed in the cleanup, little betrayals seep into the fibers, sometimes unseen, sometimes without scent, or stain, but there in the sheet weave marks are made. I think of sweet release and silence in the dark of so many moments that bind one to another. Somehow it all comes down to contrast, sacred barometer. The heart knows what words conceal, vague answers and a ping in the gut as the pressure rises. The epidermis knows what the eyes do not see, mirror rites of blood and tears, lies and truths.  Holy time lays it all flat and made so the lovers may see clean turned corners tightly pulled weave and the stains no matter how small show under the suns golden rays.  Burning desires, burning hearts and limbs… and lives. Dirty, filthy little germs to make us sick, spreading lies and love, burning throat and thighs. Tightly woven veil of words. Filtered fluid and your flowing frigid stare, singe and burn, and stab, stab, stab that heart so clean and bare to you. Stain the sheet for time she sees the humid air, sickly seep.

The dirtiest part of being a lover is knowing that nothing comes clean, be it one time or two, six years or fifty — the weave and the stain are lovers too.

Categories: Journal

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