She touches us to make herself and others feel. She doesn’t push, or force us to do unspeakable things. In her eyes, a wild hunger forever yearns for new ways to suck on life’s bloody bones and share the taste with all. Her kind has heart and brain that must feel deep and tell true, or implode. Emotions are her most valuable playthings, reality a malleable tool. She can be silent, but her mind and tongue stay at the ready. When her ink quickens, the best of us burst out of her fingertips to spread our feels.
“I played with rare things—
brains in love. Lust? Yes, with care.
Lust never plays fair.
He will ride you for three lines
and leave you without ending.”
She knows we are as real as she is fresh, as wicked as people make us, ever-willing to change and grow. We tell tales like few others can. The smallest of us can put an end to wasteful death, agree to live. Have you ever met them? No? Yes? They are famous.
“Nouns are made of dough,
best when mixed and teased till… ‘Yum!’
Once, I ate a verb
that filled me with wanting
to be sated by poems.”
She’s our strange creature, crazy about us (sane, too… but only on days when the world turns into a rotting lemon that allows for no enjoyably practical approach). We love how she writes us. She loves how we ride her. We live in her blood. She breathes through all of us. Once, she ate Love in three bites and he curled up around her bones.
the wee notes…
– Written for October’s Heart-Bits with Magaly, 2017: Love Is Love Is Love… and Words. Our posts must contain one magical element (the narrator of the prose bits is a Word Collective) and some sort of love (my chosen loves are, well… Words).
– This is pure word lust. I had a world of fun thinking about it, and then writing it to share with you. Cackles reigned. I hope you enjoy it (and Love really loves it). 😉
– Linked to Poets United.
“Love Is Love…”, by the sweetest and dearest Shelle Kennedy
(she paid me to say that… in mango frosting)