TheCourtRose

I'm going to weave you a story tonight. There will be a hint, a flutter of gossamer indiscretion. It will touch lightly upon your lips, setting a delicate line of fire down your throat. A kiss of memory, whispers, secrets, threaded together quickly, an expelled breath at the first evening's touch. Stand still. I will murmur this close to your ear. When I give you a story, when I place these words together just so for you, your desires are my fantasies and your waking hours solely my pleasure.  I am sliding my tongue not just over the dip of your hipbones , not enough to bite my name away from your trembling lips, I want to be inside your skull, swelling the veins of your heart. When you wake, you will remember me. When you sleep, you will dream of me. When your heart beats, you hear the echo of my footsteps on your floor. Only then will I begin to be satisfied.

Didn't dawn on me that the bottle looks stained in blood until the box was discarded on the counter I put the glasses away (blood dipped too) because they unhinged me You can take those back whenever you want I should lay claim to half though, considering what we went through to get the bottle Too many arms have dropped me before in one form or another (I have enough issues with men to float a psychologist's barge) For whatever reason, I knew you wouldn't let me fall, and in the liquor aisle, we managed to avoid acute financial disaster and judicial arraignment when you lifted me by my hips to the top shelf The victory was a bright corn maze in a whirlwind adulthood Blood dipped for Halloween, I suppose The one day a year I let myself feel how much death there's been You pour out a libation for yet another fallen friend tonight The care lines on your face stand out so much in the dark (or perhaps now I know what to look for) When you do open up ...

Strapped to my back are words My shoulder blades twitch, my spinal column aches I want nothing more than to drop the lot and lay down to rest But they were entrusted to me, you see So I carry and care for them, worry and wait for the ones to come From your lips to my back, I keep moving I am carrying us up the road, around the next bend, over this hovering hill to a place you've never been before But I have I know the way It's what I do Follow me up and when we get to the top I will hand back those heavy, precious words and you will see just how far you've come The issue being (of course) what so caustically and casually falls from your pens is my burden to hold So when I say, dear students, choose your words wisely, I mean that quite literally