Your fingers crawled their way up and down my nervous spine.

And even as they searched my skin,

I wished I could relive it

on constant loop.

I remember a year ago. Your voice lingering on the invisible lines of contact that would be our only connection for the day. Your voice wishing for me. Your voice too fast from whatever your nose had helped pass on to your blood stream. Your voice busy with plans to see me late at night. Your voice. Always the voice of a coward and an addict. Your voice the poison in my bloodstream.

I know a secret.

You keep it locked inside of you.

Your heart’s out here in the open, but there is one part that you keep well hidden.

There is an explosive light.

I may be fiery reds, pinks, and blues, but you are surely rose skies and rivers of champagne.

I wear that fire on the outside.

But you have a fire there too.

Stronger than any that rages from my broken insides.

You have a pale yellow outlined in a burning, bright gold.

A warmth of protection.

Hidden deep inside you.

It’s enveloped me.

And I swim in your liquid sun.

You trace my veins from my wrist to my palm, and I swear my whole body is screaming to my heart:

“stop beating”.

I hold my breath,

until your fingers wrap around mine and I can focus again.

And I would do it over

and over again.

I would slow my heart and hold my breath,

just to feel your fingers on my wrist and your lips on the back of my neck.

Milking the precious grains of sand...

Spaces

Where blissful ignorance

Has not yet been met with any

Fall-out,

And we can be

Naked and audacious, while elsewhere,

The world burns on the

Razor's edge

Of the broken picture frame...

...I was harboring wanderlust,

So I abandoned my post

At the detonation site,

And left a trail of ashes

Behind me,

As I went to size

The world up

With my thousand and

One

Fly's eyes...

I needed the valleys, and

Plains

To leap up at me,

And detain me

Long enough for a more

Thorough vision quest...

Milking the precious grains of sand!...

...How does anyone know the out-

come?...

(The fatal trick up the

Mischievous fuck sleeve)

...Yet we try so desperately

To compartimentalize

Everything,

Decieving ourselves from

The pointy fangs of loose leaf

Living...

(it's a who not what)

Our own breaking down

...of the open door...

Knocking on cliches

...for a wanton more...

This consumptive us

...in unending dust...

(we are... frustration)

#WhatFrustratedYouMost? #Challenge