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Sunday, January 22, 2012


Words are a way that mark us even though the writing is invisible,
yet those words define us as if they were tattooed on our bodies,
and those words create the history of a relationship. It implies creation, evolution and destruction--the circle of life, the span of life, the span of a relationship...
imagine the words written on our soul from everyone who has touched our lives.

                       Ink smears, as thoughts sometimes do. ~Terri Guillemets

The Memory of the Written Word

With the blackest of ink,
I create my art on your flesh…
words inflamed by my fingertips,
sounds slipping from your soul,
written by my hand
on the ribs of your will,
all sealed inside your body
with thick of
sealing wax, pressed
by the signet of my heart.
Day into night, hours pass as if
only moments, and
I am a slave to the letters
written upon your skin.

Your written words
now driven onto my skin,
slowly seeping into my flesh,
into my muscle,
into my fierce blood,
circulating endlessly
as air fills my lungs, and
turns my will to a
fluid, lovely sylph.

I find inner strength and peace;
I feel weakness without you as
your portrait lay under my need.
Truth precedes not
the rarest moment, but
the elemental memory
of my earliest universe--
your solitary nest hidden
inside a quixotic liaison.
I gaze at the starry nostalgia
of the slight of your neck, and
I know the inner history
of each of your treasures as I
sit and pine at the omniscience
of your being, languid in your
beautiful byzantine bedroom,
I dream of the ethereal form of you.

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