The poetry meme, via ladysprite who got it from wcg who got it from browngirl who possibly got it from Agnes. If you have a favorite poem, please share it!
It's Christmas Eve. I take the big box from under the bed. Opening its over-stretched lid to add a few more; I look inside. I take the others out, pet them gently, and examine them again. I've done this many times. I swallow.
Tonight, I couldn't sleep for their rustling. I could hear a few softly crying. The younger ones whimper like puppies left too long alone on a chain. Most of them breathe warm... kind, soft, still giving. Those from the past six months or so fret tender with hope and fresh desperation. A few are bitter, cold and distant. They're angry. Some stare hard turning out of reach- they are just past their middle age. The oldest ones lie silent, brittle, desiccated with neglect. They're almost dead.
I take out one of my pets. She's my hand absentmindedly tracing your collar bone. She knows the part where my head rests on your shoulder is missing. She's a good egg that one. I lay her down softly next to my hand on your cheek as I look into your eyes. She's one of the most sensitive and I'm careful not to disturb her. See, when she wakes, it's really hard for her to get back to sleep.
My hand in your hair can feel my knees on the carpet. She's always waiting near the edge hoping I'll pull her first when I open the box. To appease her, we lay spooned for a while. I can almost feel the thickness of your dark hair. I almost smell the oil of your scalp. She takes her fill and I put her back... My hand softly down your spine needs to be next and she will fidget 'til it's her turn. Up and down she meanders, fanning out to your shoulder blades. She pretends she hears you sigh with pleasure. She's the most uninhibited, but she doesn't fight when I lower her down and return her to the left corner. With heartwrenching familiarity, I push back tears as I gingerly scoop up my hand on your hip careful not to jostle the moment. I roll over onto my side, my head in my hand and ease her down gently in front of my breast. I think she's the softest. Liberated, she glides like silk around your hip bones, across your pelvis. She never heard you moan again. Fingertips clamor and jump the edge of the box, tripping lightly over your skin. My hand on your hip just rolls over and over that dip, turning, oblivious to their light exploration. She's in *that* trance.
More of them spill out when they see I'm not rationing today. My fingers entwine in yours, my foot sliding down your shin. We hold each other intimate captives and ache together. When my eyelids grow heavier than my heart.....
I put my unshared caresses back into their box. And slide it under the bed with a two-handed push.
It's Christmas Eve.
I take the big box from under the bed.
Opening its over-stretched lid to add a few more; I look inside.
I take the others out, pet them gently, and examine them again. I've done this many times.
I swallow.
Tonight, I couldn't sleep for their rustling.
I could hear a few softly crying. The younger ones whimper like puppies left too long alone on a chain.
Most of them breathe warm... kind, soft, still giving.
Those from the past six months or so fret tender with hope and fresh desperation.
A few are bitter, cold and distant. They're angry. Some stare hard turning out of reach- they are just past their middle age.
The oldest ones lie silent, brittle, desiccated with neglect. They're almost dead.
I take out one of my pets.
She's my hand absentmindedly tracing your collar bone. She knows the part where my head rests on your shoulder is missing. She's a good egg that one.
I lay her down softly next to my hand on your cheek as I look into your eyes. She's one of the most sensitive and I'm careful not to disturb her. See, when she wakes, it's really hard for her to get back to sleep.
My hand in your hair can feel my knees on the carpet. She's always waiting near the edge hoping I'll pull her first when I open the box.
To appease her, we lay spooned for a while. I can almost feel the thickness of your dark hair. I almost smell the oil of your scalp.
She takes her fill and I put her back...
My hand softly down your spine needs to be next and she will fidget 'til it's her turn.
Up and down she meanders, fanning out to your shoulder blades. She pretends she hears you sigh with pleasure. She's the most uninhibited, but she doesn't fight when I lower her down and return her to the left corner.
With heartwrenching familiarity, I push back tears as I gingerly scoop up my hand on your hip careful not to jostle the moment. I roll over onto my side, my head in my hand and ease her down gently in front of my breast. I think she's the softest. Liberated, she glides like silk around your hip bones, across your pelvis. She never heard you moan again.
Fingertips clamor and jump the edge of the box, tripping lightly over your skin. My hand on your hip just rolls over and over that dip, turning, oblivious to their light exploration. She's in *that* trance.
More of them spill out when they see I'm not rationing today.
My fingers entwine in yours, my foot sliding down your shin.
We hold each other intimate captives and ache together.
When my eyelids grow heavier than my heart.....
I put my unshared caresses back into their box.
And slide it under the bed with a two-handed push.
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I believe you have seen it before, you just don't remember.
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