Telling me what I want to hear

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I want to know where you go because you want to tell me that story and want to share inspiration.  I want to be the person you confess to with confidence in my care of your mess.

I want to know whom you met today because I want to be able to give you the nuggets of conversations from my  day,  from my aha moments and observations- many made about you being amazing and this person was well, merely likeable.

I want to know why you went where you did because I let myself go where I go and you should know what led me down that curious path and whether I’d walk it again- and whether I’d walk alone or bring you with me, to hold my hand, to stand in another spot on the map of reference I carry in my head.

I don’t test you to see if you are where you say you are.  I don’t make you share your day. I don’t check up on you. I want to give you privacy because I believe we all need a life of our own. But when you are ready to share, know I will have already shared mine, blurted out my little existence in snippets, given you my moments because I want to pull you into my life without reservation or censorship of how naive and limited I am from a stifled coming of age.

You live a big life. I live a big life.  And together why not meld these lives and build a third shared experience that inspires blinding passion from putting them together?

There’s comfort in the exchange of a day,  and while I’m running my fingers around yours, and up and down the lean lines of your forearm,  over the bend of your elbow where that divet holds a sensual space just under your bicep where I press and pause and press  and pause, while I lie next to you, my thigh draped over yours, chin nestled in the curve of your shoulder. I’m tracing the tatt on your tricep, ink which will someday be a sleeve with the story of your life, and the colors of our life.

I believe in this telling-time,  this pouring out of innocent awe, this is where we find our adventures complement and combine. We surprise ourselves again and again. We put images and memories in our heads to create the stamina for stories that we will want to hear for another 50 years, well into those longer days when we are on the front porch, rocking in our chairs, talking, re-telling, laughing, still holding hands.

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Give me your life- not in the golden band on the right left hand this time- but your mind’s life, the one that spins up there in that creative space where you reveal your naked self to my soul and I cradle your words and dreams with trust and fearless belief in your integrity and we honor each other in the safe keeping of hearts. 

#for rEticent mental property. Images courtesy of the web. September 24, 2017, the day the NFL stood up to #45 and locked arms in solidarity to support those who chose to stand Or take a knee without worry of repercussion.

 

 

 

 

Pocket full of Posies

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Good morning new day. What is the scent of today?

Sit down with me in the creperie, the sweet and savory tucked together and nestled on your plate like lessons in life.

Your grown child holds her baby in her lap. You have said goodbye to your lover.  Your tea is hot, your heart is shivering. Your world is both vibrant and numb.

Sip coffee with me the garden where the living ivy overtakes brick walls, the solid clay softening as the tiny fingers of the vine grasp daily for a taste of the rays.  The courtyard scene is dappled with the sun shining on the grey and the white heads of the ancient ones, these couples, together for what they believe is one lifetime.  These regulars, they steady each other, make habits of rituals in the rising each day, the sipping of coffee, the sharing of the front page, the endless reflection, wisdom, appreciation.

The gentle banter of observation erupts with stories of the way-back-whens in response to the infant, someone’s grandchild, oh yes, mine! mewing her needs without reservation. Those baby sounds- the crying, the giggles, the babbling of toddlers all bring to mind the endless opportunities grasped and missed in the raising of their own.

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Gentle wind, forgive the intrusion, the decay of my being seeping in, catching, swirling, landing where the lavender fields grow, hiding the whispers of a story which will not be told.

#for Reticent Mental Property. Images courtesy of the web.

 

 

Fledgling

 

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There’s a man at a desk, clears it at five, imagines the after-work nest.

There’s a man at the rail, nods with a sigh, sends over a drink for the lady.

So many are waiting, inhaling the chance to breathe air with another,

to roll over and see someone in the light of the morning,

to reach toward,

to tenderly touch the bone of her chin, the line of her nose,

to know if she is what he calls his

to see if she feels like a tomorrow under his steady gaze.

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Settle in darling, he says, his elbow anchors her hip, his arm climbs her frame with wrist securely tucked in soothing fashion to hold her in the fold of his protective wing. 

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#for Reticent Mental Property. Sept 26, 2016. 

Reblog: Trust

Trust me with parts of you others do not even know exist I will tender you in cosset and spin ugliness above your head wrap you against void and beneath terror, stoke mercy this is my pledge take my arm take a leap of faith stay your wont of emptiness and insular climb from well […]

via Not all patterns are for life — thefeatheredsleep

 

Get Me

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I get it.

I get this grin that won’t quit.

I get this little shrug in my shoulders that says, breathe deeply

of this

and hold it tightly

and smell it in his beard

and rest upon the solid shoulder he offers.

Kiss deeply his mouth

and the palms of his creative

hands.

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Soak in the fragile fierce beauty of all of the unknown, trust in the fit of his hips and the inexplicable connection. 

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#for Reticent Mental Property. Image courtesy of the web.