#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
with
someone else’s
skin.

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

maybe
type
of
love

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
a
maybe,

type
of

love?

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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