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Richy
Member Elite

since 2003-05-03

Posts 3050

0 posted 2010-03-06 12:10 PM

What is it about the pursuit
of peril and plight
that makes it so, beguiling?

Throw in doubt and hesitation,
and these cliffhangers of precariousness
become those, cautionary tales that speak
to the voluptuary, in all of us.

Like playing a game of twister
with an actual tornado,
where the tongues cant quite reach
that hard to come
by spot
of entanglement,
and so you fall in a heap,
not finding the words
before you sleep,
and wake up to a game
of, Sorry
over a plate,
of scrabbled eggs.

Or like kneeling at the edge
of a slippery precipice,
worshiping the bloom and
heady vista, before taking a header
into the unknown,
not looking, before you leapt,
not blinking before you wept,
all the time just trying to keep
that promise
that you made yourself
that now you wish,
you kept.

By fancy and must, we just yearn to seek
the unfilled cave,
virgin territory never before pierced,
hollowed ground, of our wholly
sanctuary.

Jagged cuts on the edge of enigma?

Or is it just, that it adds venture
to the mix?

You never really know just how high
you’re tolerance for pain can be
until you risk wounds,
for reward.

Just looking at the steam rise up
in the cool of night
from the concave vessel
it was shimmering in
tight,
told me that I was going to
burn my lips,
but nevertheless,
my tongue I dipped,
and sure enough
I scorched my tip,
but,
I didn’t care,
it was worth the glowing
flicker
and so
I did it again
and I began
to share,
as our eyes
were locked
within our stare
until now it hurts,
if my lips don’t
blister
within the sear
of her seethe
and sincerity.

But more so,
It was always going to be
the bonfires in her eyes
that keep me coming back
like some hopeless firefly,
the fingers of her flames, dancing
and licking at the sky,
trying to pull the coals of darkness
back down into her basking
torridity, to fuel her avidity
for covet and repose.

To only be able to find the key
to her shape, and formula.

This magic number that unlocks
her sphinx to my maxim.

My daring mystery of idyll
and providence, defined.

I’ve tasted her oracle
and now, I need more.

No more long shots
in the dark my love,
its time to ante up
and let go of the dice.

And let the hips fall,
where they may.

Alison

Member Rara Avis

since 2008-01-27

Posts 9318
Lumpy oatmeal makes me crazy!

1 posted 2010-03-06 01:25 PM

I think you are getting better and better with every poem that you post. I am in love with this poem and .. may I save it? You write in a way that I wish I could.

A

Richy
Member Elite

since 2003-05-03

Posts 3050

2 posted 2010-03-06 01:57 PM

What, these little scibbles?

Ah Ali dear, I just throw words against the barn, the ones that stick, I keep.

Thank you hon!

Save? Heck you can have it.

I've got more.

Margherita
Member Seraphic

since 2003-02-08

Posts 22236
Eternity

3 posted 2010-03-07 10:22 AM

A poem ... an event!

Oh, you do that! Your subconscious mind collaborates wonderfully I would say!

This is ... well ... ardent!

Love,
Margherita

Richy
Member Elite

since 2003-05-03

Posts 3050

4 posted 2010-03-07 10:48 AM

Oh Margy, because of you I've had to buy a bigger hat size, and bigger shirts, because my mind and heart swell up each time I read your words.

You are a treasure dear friend!
Richard

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