There is nothing quite like truth Shining through the eyes of your lover Stark and piercing Coated with a cast of pain From words, Or dead, Or lack by you
A gentle stab Piercing the heart With the absolute knowledge You did it again It’s your fault That selfish flair flapped too hard And struck
There is nothing quite like truth Shinning from the eyes of your lover Now gentled to a glint Of wet release Acceptance of the blow you failed To control Absorbed
Transformed Into a warmth that strangles doubts Enfolds in forgiveness With arms that bind wounds Support boundaries Encouraging both To try again
There is nothing as beautiful as truth Shining from the eyes of your lover Lighting the road ahead Assurance of Together’s tomorrow As those eyes seek and speak Truth in love
It once roared loudly With an abandon that belied the ordinary mouthpiece It once shone with brilliance And heat That even the blind couldn’t doubt It poured torrential waters across thirsty furrows To quench loneliness’s deep thirst
Time has changed its face Its roar is now a purr sounded in quiet corners Its light has deepened To a soft amber that heats as slow fed coals Its waters have slipped deep Locked within rich earth carpeted with green
It is a love that lingers into the beyond dreams Infusing every breath with trust Each morning with assurance Even tears with hope As fingers curl around each other Locked in companionship And gray hairs sprout to sparkle against tired temples It is a love that lives
The joy of wriggling feet in wet sand as waves tease toes with cool kisses, one after the other in the rhythmic love of touch. Whet sand sticks to heals. Tinny particles embedded in natural valleys of skin, playing as if they lived there when it’s vacation day. The sand paper feel of brushing particles of rocks from flesh, and finding them attached to palm and fingers and hiding in, in between places. Better to walk the shores barefoot, letting the warmth of sun and wind do their work? Watch the dark sands lighten to dry dust. Brush hands together to cast tinny stones aside. Now ankles can be cleared of minuscule boulders, only the finest of glittering flecks remain as reminders of earth and skins dalliance. Sandals laced. Only a stone here and there, stealing a peck from human follicles. Goodbye, kisses. Reluctantly brushed aside.
“Tomorrow.”
We whisper to the waves as the beach house light beckons. The courtship of human hearts and beach lasts only a day. In the morning waves crash and clouds weep their farewell as a drizzle, on our last beach walk.
We can hear the gulls cry, “Don’t leave!” The salty breeze seals love like heartache to our memory with scent we won’t forget. He holds the suitcase as I hold him.
“We’ll come back someday.”
The sand hiding in spaces between sandal leather and sole won’t let me forget this promise.
Dwelling Literary has again redecorated and on July 1st my piece, Lovers Getaway dropped as part of their BEACH HOUSE Issue.
BEACH HOUSE will continue to be an interactive experience on the home page for the month of July, after which all included pieces will remain in their Archives.
Dwelling literary continues to be a great sight to interact with and write for on a monthly basis. I encourage all of my friends to check out there monthly themes. Thank you!
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As the guitarist placed a pick on metal strings, the first notes of music were born. Together, they made chords. Waves wrapped around each other, then dove into the blackness of guitar’s belly.
A single Wave came awake. Was it particles all clumped together? No. It was sound. A singleness that moved and bounced and collided with its siblings within the darkness.
“Were did the light go?”
At the moment of birth, was brightness. Then speed swallowed light, and shadowed hardness housed multitudes, and became Wave’s world.
The journey changed Wave. With every bounce it slowed, or speed up. It brushed, or joined, then ripped away from a sibling. When this happened Wave warped.
It was pain and pleasure. An existence of experience crammed within small spaces, and fragments of time. Edges of knowing were fuzzy. If Wave had known what time was, it would have seen its lines. It followed them, unaware.
“Where is the light?”
Can a wave remember? This one was searching for something. A doorway? Freedom? There!
The abruptness of existence ceased and Wave sprang past metal strings to bright openness.
It sliced past dust particles suspended in air and rocked them with its wake. They danced and waved goodbye.
The lines of time directed Wave’s path, and in a blink it knew a human. It stretched within the openness, only to fold across the mass of skin and hair, seeping through fabric to touch warmth and disappear.
As Wave broke apart upon the mountain of flesh, it found a tunnel. Small, hot, yet soft. A shard of Wave reverberated down this narrow well. It touched taught skin and changed again.
Wave was tinny, yet it filled the entirety of a human. It shivered between skin and bones, liquid lines that reached out and sought understanding. It joined with electricity and plasma to become the flesh that had taken it in.
A pulse, heartbeat, and tap of toes. A movement with a smile. It knew and breathed and in the absorption of self, it touched a soul, and became whole.
“Play it again for me, please?”
The guitarist chuckled, and again set pick to metal, birthing chords that split as fingers held down strings and a human heart sang without words.
Mary Grace Writing 