darkest pit of your soul in the rain

doesn’t it seem odd to you where we are?
almost enough miles away that
right now it does not hurt like a bastard
keeping a distance from the pain for now
even a walk in the pain won’t cheer me up
still hearing the ocean lived so long away from
this time I will miss it when I leave, if I leave
purple-red sunsets of unapproved-of passion flowers
in a ritual of forever and forgetfulness and
times of stolen touches yet rekindling heat, is it that
organisms can actually bond in this way
framed in a pair of not-so-innocent eyes and
young skin is sinking into the bathroom floor,
our lives may seem longer than they really are
until the morning devil comes in our lives again
right now we are caught up in the once more,
so where did you disappear off to? it is not
our brains that separate us, yet here we are,
using the telephone for its close contact
like sliding down my back your sultry voice
into a steaming tub with your hello waiting
nice and comfortable as your embrace is
the hug after and accident or a kissed bruised heart
however I am wishing for your call to escape this night,
evidently I am not near enough to be occupied because
reasons to miss you, the song playing, my food, my constant
anger at myself for screwing up so bad to
instantly be relieved would be so cutting and easy
now I need to hear your voice


About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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