The Grass is Black/The Air is Pink


feel me/read me/follow me

My Relationship with Love…

is my medicine
and it’s also my disease
it makes me sneeze
it makes my flesh crawl
it makes my heart spit at me
for being so blue, morose
and un-loveable

is my master and also my slave
because I work it ’til it bleeds
my reflection is not of me
but of what I feel
when I think of what could be
what could blossom between us
if you would only look at me
with a light in your eyes

is my teacher and also what’s corrupted me
because at night
when I’m trying to sleep
I can’t help but think of Love
I feel it tickling my wrist
I feel it biting my breast
it’s just a tease
because when I awake the next morning
I’m cold and alone…

written: August 31, 2010


Filed under: desire,desire,desire..., life, regarding myself, that crazy,little thing called love, Uncategorized

2 Responses

  1. Oh how I identify. The double-edged sword of love and affection. So sweetly tragic.

    Love is not the emptiness
    It dwells between the universe
    And soaks into the cracks of life
    Where sometimes we have yet to look

    Love is not the tickled wrist
    Or suckled breast in darkened rooms
    Love is in the warmth you hold
    Under the skin–deep within you

    • emmjaepenniman says:

      Yes, I’ve heard that before… something of how the true loves of our lives are inside of us already… Thanks for reading and commenting.

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