Interlocking

Four chambers pump and dump

forgiveness

reminiscence

love

lust

pulsing against at a chest that can barely contain them.

 

Will there ever be a time

when I don’t set upon a memory of you

and my eyes don’t well,

my arms don’t ache for you,

my stomach doesn’t drop in excited anticipation

of your kiss at the base of my chin?

 

Is there anything as bitter on the tongue as remorse?

 

Can life be so long and so cruel as to brainwash me

into believing there is a time for us,

a place for us somewhere over the rainbow

or beneath the magnolia trees;

or will you lure me there, once again,

with your sweet words and devil tongue

only to gaslight my daydreams?

 

Our puzzle is scattered, unfinished

I’m on my hands and knees seeking the pieces

that lay strewn about

 

Yet…

I know our lips will meet

after all this time

We will meld,

our teeth may bump

as we rearrange ourselves

we may twist and turn,

attempt after each silly, giggling attempt,

until our four corners

lock

take hold

and frame

the explosion of colors and shapes we left in the middle.

 

 

 

It’s been a long time since I wrote and even longer since I wrote for Studio30.

But the words given to us ; remorse, gaslight/brainwash seemed to want to play.

Thank you for stopping by, I’m glad you’re here. 

Inside the Chamber

Before…

 

 

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They sent him to a small, dark room off the brightly lit council gathering space . The walls were draped in rich, heavy tapestries that hung floor to ceiling, and were the color of deep, mythical amethysts.

Amriel didn’t dare evaporate or spread his wings, which twitched against his back as he shuffled  along next to the duo of angels who flanked him, brothers Jahoel and Jehudiel, along the hallway lit by tall .

Once the room had swallowed the trio Amriel sank against one of the velvet walls, “So this is what the Chamber of Secrets looks like?” he said to the angels who’d  positioned themselves with their backs to door.

Jahoel, the younger twin, couldn’t keep the concern from his voice,  “Amriel, you are in deep trouble my friend.”

But Amriel was hardly listening as he pretended to hang his head and gazed into the tiny pile of white powder in his palm that resembled tiny, pinpoint stars.

Right before he collapsed, he watched as  Jane woke up, dewy-eyed, to the sight of Wakeford at her bedside.

*****

For Studio30Plus:

This week, we borrow from Laura, “Newborn.”

“… chamber of secrets” and “stars”

 

For Velvet Verbosity: 

The word of the week is Dewy 

 

 

100 Words Writing Prompt

For more of “The Trouble with Jane” click on the tab at the top of the page.

 

 

Lucy in Love: Featured at Flash Fiction Magazine

It’s nice to write for all of you and have you come here and read my words.

I love those visits.

 

But sometimes I dream about having a bigger stage than this little blog for my stories.

 

Today, my flash fiction piece Lucy in Love is being featured on Flash Fiction Magazine and I’m thrilled.

 

A bigger stage for that lovely little piece about a girl in love.

 

Inviting you over to read it there and a HUGE thank you to Flash Fiction Magazine for choosing to share it.

flash fiction

 

 

Sophrosyne

my heart leapt out to meet yours

caution signs avoided

peril ignored

it

zipped

flipped

tripped

slipped

and blipped..just once

(ok, twice)

allowing you to riff then rip (it apart)

 

Red flags were blowin’

sun in my eyes, warmth stealing under my skin coating the inside of my thighs

between the spaces where ecstasy melts into aching  and back again

you passed into my chamber of secrets, if you will,

and sealed our fate forever

 

Oh!

The shame, the secrets, the sanctimonious stares

would have been worth the sweet, sultry taste of sinning …

You’re sitting somewhere; on a carefully built pedestal in your leaning –ivory- tower-of – priggishness wishing the water would come in and take all those memories out to sea…

I’m sitting here just wishing I’d kissed you more.

*******

The Reverie is  a new  poetry community I’ve found myself in and (whispering, hoping they let me stay…) I love it.

This week they prompted with a Burning Denial or a Regret:

Sometimes the things we deny ourselves tells us a lot about ourselves.

So tell us, what have you said no to, but you wish you could say yes?

Smolder

The smallest lick ignites a spark,

the breezes blow

while kindling catches

and warms your skin

 

You lean in to feel,

to touch,

stroking the metal

poking the offerings

extending your hand

free of trepidation

And wait for the fire…

 

your insides

burning

yearning

for the quiet flicker of flames

mistaking the devouring of your soul for a

lovely incandescence floating above the bonfire

 

his legerdemain drips bitter on your tongue

and

your heart’s become merely a fleshy mound on his spit

 

showing  no penitence

his rips at your tender skin.

with pointed and bared teeth

 

Don’t wish for water….

The beast must be fed.

 ******

Linking to three prompts with this one…

Mama’s Losin’ It
Write a post inspired by the word : bitter 
Velvet Verbosity Writing Prompt
This week’s word: Beast 
lightandshade logo
Every man is guilty of all the good he didn’t do

Good Girl

That girl

with her grown up job

and three inch heels

still feels like a child most days.

Even though she comes when she’s called mommy or honey

she yearns for someone to put their mouth against her skin

and call her baby instead,

summoning her dreams from their private places.

 

She doesn’t follow rules or

listen to the rhetoric of voices

she’s just doing the best she can

to drown out  the silken speech of temptation

while ignoring the yearnings you inspire.

 

She can stay good as long as you don’t ask her to be bad.

 

Because if you just reach for her,

eager to draw out the young girl playing dress up

and kiss her like she’s  somethin’

then all bets are off…

she’s gonna follow you anywhere.

 

*****

I have  a lot of respect and awe for people that write beautiful/soulful/inspiring  poetry.

I just got acquainted with The Reverie and they have a prompt this week asking us to be inspired by a really cool KONGOS song:  Come With Me Now: and decided to write something.

 

Role Reversal

Yancy shifts, careful not to disturb the dream that is evidenced by the slight but completely adorable twitch that keeps pulling Clea’s lips up and unknowingly putting a pink blush in her cheeks.

He struggles to stop himself from reaching for her while hoping he’s playing lead in her fantasy.

The bed moans its disapproval as he gently tries to eradicate his arm from underneath her copper curls.  Yancy takes a fingertip and pushes one unruly fiery strand away from her cheek and allows it to rest there a moment longer than he should.

Clea’s body stirs while her mouth moves in an elaborate series of openings and closings, her gentle whimpers arouse him as she unconsciously fills the gap between them with her warm, soft body until she’s tucked into him.

Without thinking, Yancy presses his lips to her forehead, his nose drawing in the tangy scent of sex and wheaty beer.

He never expected to end up here again.

The last words they’d said to each other, so many years ago, had been full of venom and tears. He’d written her off, vowing to never think of her again.

Until he’d had to.

Until the only thing he could see were her piercing eyes, the color of robin’s eggs, filling with tears as she reached to embrace him in surprise. Vanilla and something almost acrid, like the tip of a struck match,  made their way to his senses as he held on to her, refusing to let go.

They’d left the party together clutching at the past.

****

Clea wakes with her hand on his chest.

Yancy watches as she adjusts her body, naked and exposed, by wrapping the the sheet around herself and letting her gaze travel the room until it settles on him.

Watching  as she  stiffens and allows a single tear to travel the distance of her face before she moves away clutching the flimsy sheet he rushes to assure her.

He knew the truth but he spoke anyway.

“I’m sorry Clea. I never meant to hurt you.” He hears himself pleading, desperate and wrecked, but he can’t stop the words, ” I still love … ”.

Clea cuts off his admission with a watery smile, noncommittal and forced.

” Maybe some secrets  are best hidden away.”  She whispers into the skin near his middle.

Love is a luxury, lust is simply a comfort and Clea is only offering one.

 

I missed last week so I combined once again.

This week, we borrow from Tina, at Not Just Another Mother Blogger.

“Best hidden away” and/or “scar”

Still Crazy After All These Years?

A ring around your finger
should halt
The longing…
(or is it yearning?)

But a smile across the room,
A hug
(for a second too long)
Where you breathe in the faintest whiff of sandalwood

And suddenly
You’re sixteen all over again.


My answer to the ultimate question this week.

Small Talk

I swiped your parking space

( in return) you snatched my breath.

When a (much imagined ) coincidence

shimmered in my rear-view, common sense retreated.

My feet should have done the same…

Any idea much it costs to remove teeth marks from Jimmy Choos?

How Do You Plead? (The Angel Sagas)

 

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A gavel thundered and the milling along with the chaotic, whispered conversations was immediately silenced.

“We’ll come to order, please.”  Araquiel requested in the smooth, patient voice of the doting grandfather figure he resembled. His white hair deeply parted to one side was streaked with stripes of gray as if those strands had stood their ground when asked to change.

Raquel sat to his left, with his hands folded on the table in front of him with a look of quiet terror on his face. He’d replaced the Armani suit for light blue robes and it aged him. His face sagged and sallow, purple shadows played on the skin beneath his eyes.

He looked awful.

It mattered little to Amriel as he sat in a beautifully carved wooden chair, a foot below the rest of the council, in the middle of the cavernous room; on display or in-the-round as it was often called. He’d refused to relinquish his own Italian blend so he looked like a banker at a toga party.

Peering at his elder he felt no earthly (or heavenly, for that matter) guilt. Instead he harbored a deep desire to assure his handler that nothing that happened in this room could dampen his mood.

Amriel’s thoughts snuck off, as they often did,  to Jane.

Soon she would wake and Charles Wakeford would be there to greet her with soft eyes and love that (manipulated or not) would finally pull her from her somber and lonesome sleep.

He tugged on the Windsor knot at his neck to release the relief and a tiny pinch,  yes, an almost undetectable pang, of jealousy gathering at the base of his throat as he imagined her wanton surprise.

Araquiel’s voice pulled him back to the room, where his peers had begun to titter in the wake of unaccustomed silence.

“Enough.” The angel demanded, a bit more forcefully than his previous request and the room hushed. Leveling his gaze he seemed unnerved by the peace that had settled around his rogue disciple, “Amriel, we are here to ascertain your role in the matter of Jane Best. Did you, dear Angel, intercede on her behalf?”

“I did, sir.”

Araquiel’s eyes clouded, “You don’t deny involvement?”

“No sir.” Amriel acquiesced, taking in Raguel’s heavy sigh before covering his face with his hands.

“Are you prepared to state your reasons for this breech?”

Amriel pulled at the small white cuffs of his dress shirt until they peeked from the edge of his suit jacket. He answered unapologetically, “I am. “

“Proceed.”

Amriel sat up straight in the chair, “She needed me. I watched over her heart for almost two years tending to her dreams, her hopes, her wishes. Wakeford wasn’t ever going to come back to mend her heart. “Amriel stopped, desperately searching for the words that help him explain, “I had to do something.”

“Your initial intention was to harm this human?”

Amriel nodded, “To end his life.”

The hushed council exploded into a frenzy of disbelief where voices spilled over one another in a rush to scold or offer an opinion.

Jane’s angel simply closed his eyes and listened, even as he felt the iron cuffs snap over his wrists, anchoring him to the chair and whatever fate the council had in mind.

 


For this week, we’re going back to quote and single word prompts.

From Linda, at In Somnis Veritas,”With Every Season”

“I close my eyes and I listen.” and/or “iron”

 

You can read this story from the beginning by clicking on tab at the top of this page. 

 

Amriel: The angel of May

Araquiel: The angel with dominion of the earth 

Nanael:  The angel who governs science

Miniel : The angel invoked to induce love

Raguel: The angel who watches over the behavior of angels. 

truman pishner_darcie@mailxu.com
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