touch me
stretch your arm past
limits of space
reach beyond time
run your hand gently
through tangles of hair
that I grew for your use
as a leash for my head.
eradicate distance
ignore the limits of
practical and possible
touch my wet cheeks
reach out your hand
stroke my hair
whisper those words
of comfort and –
what?
a feeling I dare not
risk with a name.
touch me.
soothe me.
kiss it and make it better.
and i will make you tea.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
Posts
4 comments:
hi og, this was really beautiful. it definitely touched me. something nice about your blog is the interweaving story lines of your life. we know that the philosopher will always be part of your writings, and we understand that you have strong feelings about this because you often mention it in passing. but then every once in a while there is a surprise piece, where your feelings jump out and tumble down the stairs in front of us, a la scarlet in gone with the wind. and even though i know it's painful, you've found the key to making beauty out of your pain.
Oatmeal girl, as Meg says, I don't think that you can help making beauty, it's part of you.
Warm hugs,
Paul.
Gee...I really liked that one. *smiles*
meg - as i'm sure you appreciate, the interweaving story lines may be good for my blog but they can make living very complicated.
your tumbling down the stairs image is both beautiful and effective. because in fact, given that the 2 leading men of my complicated story lines both read this blog (tho the philosopher doesn't usually read the comments) i sometimes hold back.
my collector tells me quite clearly what i may and may not reveal here about him and what he does to me. as for the philosopher, i do attempt to protect him. it's not a case of not revealing certain things so you won't think he is a monster. But i do reserve the right in all my writings to make the decision to protect his (or my or anyone else's) privacy. and i do. plus i admit that i do hold back some of my emotions. or try to. i worry about putting pressure on him with stories of my broken heart, despite his assuring me that this is a place for me to say what i need to say. still, i do wonder about his reactions... until the pressure becomes too great, like this week, and i rip open my shirt and show my torn and bleeding heart.
paul and greenwoman - i am touched and grateful.
Post a Comment