sometimes you have to throw a balm of truth into chaos
even though to some it will seem like you threw an angry wasp nest

Oh yes, where to start….
          
                 A Kiss behind the ear
             trailing across the jaw
                  a light sweep of lips across lips
                       a catch of breath…

                               moving down….

Fingers tracing every move….
    soft wet kisses to the neck
           ….are you feeling the groove?

                 Slowly lips move from neck to chest
                             as they lovingly adore
              fingers lightly travel down
                                           eager to explore…

      Wet trailing kisses to the navel
               fingers circling around chest
      bringing forth trembling lightheaded sensations
                    lips against skin, pressed…..

                              Moving ever so slow….

                                        finger traces
                                           circling tongue
                                              lips adoring
                                                 wet embraces
                                             intensity flowing
                                          curling toes
                                        twitching muscles
                                      heart pounding
                                        breathless
     ­                                     out of body
                                            a second of clarity
                                              Sweet Release….
                  
                                   Good morning baby, shall we go on……..
~
© 2017 Brianna Love/SA/DBMA

fingers grasp around you
the ribs of my embrace
slicing solitude in ribbons
wrapping new flesh
with shy promises
filling up the body
of a possibility
its youthful iridescent eyes
now blossoming
giving out near-future sparks
to the world-pyre

when I began to write
poetry
all those years ago

I was amazed to find
that I even
had a voice.

It was a gift
that I never
hoped for.

I only shared light.

There is too much
darkness.

And then
little by little
I had to write
about the monsters
in the deep.

And my writing
got to be
unrecognizable.

Those couldn't be
my words.

Don't bury me
in a grave
in a big old box
I've known too much
darkness.

And so here I am
trying to balance
injury
with hope for a new future

That may be called
healing.