Belly of a Star

my practice of compassion

The Tremble


sam in glasses

He enters and all trembles. The bees. The birds. The very sky.

The whisperers of words shushed.

All silenced.

Say, his fingers.

How they weave and break, as the wave at the peak of servitude, pounding on the sandy shore proclaiming his arrival.

All is still.

Say, his voice.

Gentle comes the tellings of before.

And he weeps in his confession.

In his confusion.

Hush now, she comes, his mistress cloaked in blue, bathing him in gentle promises.

Pressing her cheek to his, her sign of blessing.

Her skin the touch of delight. Her taste still lingering beyond his breath.

Inhale as he does, her beauty. Taking her with his eyes and the quiet plenitude offered through the beating of his heart.

His hand to hers, he releases his guard, and the air escapes him, embracing the delicate freedom.

Her wanting sets upon his chest, the broadness thick and inviting. To hold him again, her only bliss.

To be taken into his stronghold, the only desire.

Oh, how she misses him in their shared withholding.

Her ache easing back to the familiar home. His passion seizing—lightening disassembled and reborn down the span of his center line.

Tell me, she asks, without words. Take me, her every layer screams.

And still he stands, the weeping man, forging through the land, this warrior come home.

In thought. In long ago deed.

Reliving where he’d traveled, and mourning his departure.

Lastly she moves, swaying her silhouette beyond reach. Her last desperate plea trapped in the quake of her throat.

Love me, she bleeds.

Before embracing herself in tremble.


longing 2

4 thoughts on “The Tremble

  1. Lovely story….Thrilling language and quite a rising and falling. Very enthralling!

  2. …sad…

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