He’s the fuck in my diversity

Holy fuck…
It’s the way he did it,
That bloody thing where
falling fast became
the only fit.
Now it resembles
A monochrome web
weaved into the
fabric of time
aeons before that
first
fucking
sign.

He’s all open book
and no fucking index Heiroglyphics with
no picture dictionary.

Yet, if this is our journey
then I willingly walk it

He’s that single thread of intent,
a catalystic explosion,
that’s power,
im powerless yet
empowered by this erotic state that brings
me to my knees like his palate already
knows the taste of my essence
and now it’s back for seconds.

I’m screwed.
He’s so
deep
In my aura
my spirit keeps
asking where we
know him from and
how many times,
decades and fucking
centuries will it take.

I’m his the moment
that voice curls around
my mind.

We’re a cris
cross mashup
of fierce undertones
Hunter gatherers
collecting tidbits
to fill jars with
memories
making paper
chairs out of
snippets of trust.

And I’m scared
shitless
of letting my
tainted heart
dictate the words
that tumble
from my
empty mouth
and spill from my
empty ink.

I’m my very own
battleground
with worn relics
ancient chants
succubus blood
and a soul
made from the
finest China
with no Gold
to hide my flaws.

and fuck..
…just fuck.
Like any thing
was ever gonna
change the
collision of
our paths…

Karen Hayward © 2018
Image and words

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