burning for apples.
to me, you are that apple resting on that forbidden tree.
in this garden, nothing is sacred except the breaths that we intake,
deeply; relieving us, so that we do not succumb to temptation like we may have in the past.
at times, i think that i would give this very soul to burn with you.
other times, i laugh at the indication.
we could rise and fall like the sun and the moon, and the rain all around that tree.
because like that tree, we are not innocent to conditions.
if i choose to consume you…
this consumption would come at a price.
the music and the mechanics.
She tore the bedding from the mattress and tossed it onto a deep heap of sheets in the middle of the floor. The bounty of cotton met her knees, and when the bed was finally bare, she lay flat on the mattress with her face raw to the elements. She warmed her naked body against the nylon skin, flattening her tears against checkered patches sewed onto the queen-sized cot. Her mind raced over recollection, climbed over images of faces and actions and stalled on memory lane. She laid there, slack, for a long time, inhaling lose like air and sucking in despair and debris simultaneously.
She had prayed that her body and mind would feel the same, align, so that she could go to sleep at night thinking about the person that she was sleeping next to instead of someone else. The soft pleasant body beside her wasn’t the hard engaging body that she wanted beneath her. She craved moans driven by only kisses, arousal prompted by hand holding and meaningless conversation just to hear one another’s voice. She wanted the mechanics of nuts and bolts; hammers and to be nailed. But she also enjoyed the luxury of music, the balance of a ballet and how the slow careful notes could put her in a mood. She wanted all those things, the music and the mechanics. The body and emotion.