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We were lavish with our tongues and fingers
when we feasted, but we never tasted love.
I'll admit sometimes I miss the hunger
for another bite of flesh, the constellation
of scattered bruises, the burning
of a hundred angry stars
falling across my body in the darkness
beneath your white belly moon
before our sea waves turned tsunami,
drowning us in spray
All that energy to create such passion,
but we never tasted love;
we were just lucky in that way.
It made Goodbye easier to say
| "a hundred angry stars". . . yes. I like that very much. |
I feel spite here. Masked as ambivalence. Or at least some sense that the loss here holds a deeper meaning than just losing a fun, angry lay. Maybe you've come to some sort of realization that there was never really anything beyond the physical there and that seems hollow, or maybe because there was potential for more but it was too scary to stick around and risk feeling vulnerable again,but now you regret that you didn't.
I'm just saying, on some level it comes off as a lamentation of a love lost before it was ever realized. And yet, I also sense this feeling of "Ha, at least this one didn't get a hold on me!"
I don't know.
Maybe I'm way off . . .
|| Posted on 2011-12-06 00:00:00 | by JanePlane | [ Reply to This ] || Easier to swallow the pain of goodbye....easier to swallow....other things....|
The raw passion is a hard one. I can't be a part of it. Never ever.
Once the moment is done, if there isn't any feeling left over, then there isn't anything doing for me. And I leave before it becomes too hard to swallow.
There's this old saying: A Chinese man told his sons to marry for money, not love. And by doing that they would get the benefits of marriage, without having to go through the pain of loss..of their wives happened to die.
Such a tragic way to look at it.
Your poem is moving across the edge of my mood. I really enjoyed it.
|| Posted on 2011-12-05 00:00:00 | by OneDarkFlame92 | [ Reply to This ] || love without the love.|
the poem speaks of love and a certain choking in the afterthought.
the tsunami may have been stronger than either thought.
but never consciously tasting the love...maybe that was a good thing at the time...but subconsiously...i think it was there all along...with the spray.
your poetry speaks of truth, always...nothing contrived, just shooting from the gut.
|| Posted on 2011-12-04 00:00:00 | by jacoberin | [ Reply to This ] |