Muted tones of chirpy songs and quiet replies, punctuated by toilet breaks and grunts of playful frigid hands; return to kisses of bad breath and bitten lip. And beautiful beginnings smile in the stillness after rain gentle morning hues of bedroom warmth to laughter and mischievous eyes close and kisses… kisses... kisses that wish for always and forever and not end. But loving tears were (nearly unseen) caught and held between the soft breast of here and now– tomorrow, “even this is beautiful” she said, and Goodbye has never stopped heartbreak.

and in the quiet, the patter of rain... by changers-n-mash, literature

Literature

and in the quiet, the patter of rain...

Wrapped in comfort, of flaws, of humanity, of lampshades and duckegg, of warm hands and gentle lips, of soft words and cold feet and mistakes and laughs tumbling out to play on creamy skin of wheat and whey, between kisses and hand-holding in circles around swaying pillars and arches, breathless resting his forehead against her neck, eyes closed, arms across her chest drew her in, breathing closeness and fighting sleep; and in the quiet, the patter of rain sounded… love.

And tentatively, I tell her so, because I am shy by changers-n-mash, literature

Literature

And tentatively, I tell her so, because I am shy

Despite siren songs and half-closed eyes, early morning light will always be more romantic and sensuous, and I tell her so; and she says to me how I always say things in such a sexy way. Though sense never chose her, never chose words, for sex or sensibility, still I yearn to stay by her fingertips, for her skin – for her. And love her wit, her scent, her hair And draw her close, breathe in as much of her as my desperate lungs will – hold my breath… like the stillness of summer air, hoping to keep this memory in my heart, so I will carry her in my heart(I carry it in my heart). And tentatively, I tell her so, because I am

Ours is a death by drudgery by changers-n-mash, literature

Literature

Ours is a death by drudgery

Every morning, her Kraken-like lips yawn cavernous with soporific starts and smothered dreams. She holds me under waves of snooze that squeeze every last drop of willpower until I wash up on the cold steel basin once again. Treated with burnt toast and bitter coffee in silence cut only by the uncaring clickety-clack of exo-skeleton, she dyes and embalms any prospect of excitement with routine and repetition; rinse and repeat, rinse and repeat... The clasp of her carpals and metacarpals stills my pen, and the gentle caress of chalkboard nails tears me away to gaze at vacuous orbits behind shadowed eyelids so words fall like dead stars and

You were rain that pours and never stops by changers-n-mash, literature

Literature

You were rain that pours and never stops

You were rain that pours and never stops, never roars, and is never still. You were the sighs and smiles of shores that breathe. You were the wind that swayed the waves of gold wheat where I hid but did not live; did not live until your words were whispered into them. You were the gracious moon that waxed and waned so the stars could be seen and I, dog eared and fox eyed, was caught by the constellation of you. For I shied and shrunk from the sun, that shone too bright, too brilliant, until I learnt to set my heart upon the dying light but now it is night and you were hello and I was ever a constant goodbye.

Untitled by changers-n-mash, literature

Literature

Untitled

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