Conflict and resolution

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6/5/2017 A prose set of images and self and sensuality

Our oceans merge into one another.

This is m

                e,

                         are.

and here you

What a strange and impossible situation

to live with one's heart

outside one's body.

 

--------

 

I watch myself 

from behind a privacy screen 

in the dark behind my eyes.

This diaphanous veil

is so light and insubstantial

but obscures so much.

My brain whispers to itself,

a sussurus of inner voices,

a chorus,

all singing different songs

and simultaneously firing words and images

into my private landscapes

like a space program...

or a war...

...a network of rockets launching

with the random nature

of a toddler's scribble in crayon.

 

I wish they would harmonise.

 

All these voices, all these different views

pouring out and over each other,

as oiled snakes or fish in barrels.

These concepts squirm with lives of their own,

pitiful and lacking impetus, maybe,

but there are so many roaring words and pictures,

like waves crashing eternally

on the shores of my mind.

Half-formed ideas and inspirations are they,

floating and bumping against each other,

splintering and fracturing like ships at sea...

 

...how I wish they would find a safe port

and call me home...

 

--------

 

I hold her flesh in my hand.

Hot and soft is she.

Just how I like it.

She gives as I take,

her suppleness succumbing

succulent and sensual.

These secret curves

tell tales of tantalising torrid titillation.

Tell those tales to me.

Tell them.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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