#8 healing poetry; a maybe type of love

Light drips off his chest,
and I open mine to a
feather touch inside.

Like kisses, soft lip touches
brush against the inside of
the burning of my chest.

I wonder, what would it be like,
to make love to the Ocean?

At the hearth of my home,
when I return – from traipsing through
the landscapes of my mind –
there is a fire.
And now,
it sings his name.

My calves burn,
Like the early morning skies.
And, the sea seems to laugh,
at my turned back –
It sparkles like my grandfathers eyes,
when he made someone run
right into the sand.

I clutch at this moment –
when I walk through the door-
It feels like
clasped hands
praying, in my chest.
The spaces between fingers
are smothered by slightly
sweating skin,
Unable to release their hold,
God, they are praying –

And isn’t it strange,
that praying hands,
are like two bodies making love?

Holding tight together,
skin, and bone –
all the feelings of the
never-known, little grown,
maybe –
type of love

It’s a maybe type of love.

I send a prayer
to that feeling in my chest
release me like the beating
of feather touches blessed
someone else’s

Can I feel that kiss,
right inside my chest, again?

Light drips from his chest – not off it –
this time,
I open mine
To that feather-like-touch
that feels like a momentary


Tell me, darling,
why can I feel my lips move
when you talk?

Why do your kisses grace my insides
rather than the outsides,
like they should?

Is it just



Published by LughLana

Hey there. My name is Ash. Whenever I feel lost or confused, I write. This blog is a project in releasing the poetry I would have kept locked up inside, otherwise. It's pronounced 'LOU-lah-NA.' Enjoy your visit!

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