rain / sweat / flesh / masquerade

Amused by the masquerade of my flesh under the covering of a salty precipice, as droplets now shatter on the ground. Crisp air turns on the light beneath my flesh, with unswerving intent, melting me into a boneless vibration echoing off the pavement. A drip, of sweat, or rain, nestles in the gully between my breasts in a secret meeting with my nipples, downward passage of my throat thirsting to thoughts once slaved to rest, now exposed one every ligament of my calf, as sheer glistening sweat takes refuge upon me. The rain, acts as my cloak, coverage of my nakedness, winding its way around my body in lovers temperance. Tears from heaven now dancing along the pavement, squish, as they enter my sneaker.....

upper lip / strength / sneakers / running

My ex - husband is far worse for my health than high fructose corn syrup could ever be. I concluded this, this past Sunday while at Columbia University attending my daughter's (the same daughter that is also his daughter) graduation from her Master's Program. The words "ARROGANT ASSHOLE" do not even give him justice, sweat beading on my forehead and upper lip as I peered the grumbling in his eyes, and the Marlboro haze filtering from his mouth. When we look back over our lives, and OUR past mistakes, hard to believe that we all were once so stupid and naive as to expect (and further insist) that life would be kind to us.

There is not a moment in time that I question why I left this man, or that if I had to do it all over again, I would leave him sooner and with a quickened stride, not a meandering lacking confidence stride, saying I'm sorry I really tried all the way out the door.........some how weeping, expecting some different ending version of the fairy tale. No, it sucked, and it sucked big-time...there is just no getting around the muckiness of the situation.

There is just no nice way, or good housekeeping version, to state it otherwise. Meeting up at events and dealing with your nasty ex - husband, who has a chip the size of Mount Everest still on his shoulder, is, well, not very pleasant a way to spend a Sunday afternoon...and this is why I have run countless miles this past week, running away from the place he crushes inside of me, every time he is close enough...Feeling the mud on my shin, letting it imprint on my flesh, warm and demanding as its murkiness fills my senses. Stone lined garden spaces gracing the space between my hipbones, as the tiniest veil of vines drips down my leg. Sweat draping from my brow, precipitous drop of despair, feeling the strain in the deepest of places...

sounds / wings / faintness

Lushness of early morning silence echoes from each rose petal.  Succulent beads of dew hang suspended above each thorn. The scent of heat so thick it latches onto my breath, as my sneakers peer out from the black frame of pavement.  Heat, as an antique paisley shawl, wrapped within me so tight, it cuts off my breath. I slide my sneakers along the pavement, and speak in whispers to the birds, as they drink on the nectar of honeybees ....taking a larger breath, falling one step backward into the camouflage of the foliage........