literature

Feb 1st: Pressure, Lightly

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Literature Text

Pressure, lightly.

Light pressure On my skin.
You are a ghost That haunts ma peau,

et quand je dit les mots dans un autra langue,
C'est different.

(Mais, their weight
Still holds the same)

Heavy pressure On my heart.
Ma tete, c'est bizarre,c'est derange.
Je veux ta visage Dans mes mains.
Tes cheveux - pour juste Un moment -
Etaits perdue dans mes droits.

Oh mon Dieu.
My god,
I do not know Who you are.

I only know the moments I charge,
to reach my arms across the threshold,
to hold your jaw.

I was wrong…

Your hands were soft.
Your lips, I do not know them..
Yet.

Oh, the light pressure of them
On my neck.
(Though only in my head)

To my dream-world we went.
Five years I've spent, in the seat of a car,
Watching that field scroll away past my window.

Different windows,
Different weather,
Different people
Making me their tiny passenger.

And you took me.
No coin, no quarter,
No nickelodeon clicking past my vision,
But a true perception.

We sat on that black box
and watched the winter orb
Absorb into the ground.

It [we] got so close,

so close that the heat left the sky
and transplanted
Into the infinitesimal space
Between our coats.


Then, there we sat in the
Darkness of your cave.

I felt your face.
Oh, that face. It changed.
You savored it, you absorbed
The fairness of my skin.
It sucked the Sicilian sun
straight from your cheek.
I heard, I felt you speak.

The sound of whiskers
Moving beneath my palm.
The heat of you is still in me.

Scorpion, your hands were not rough!

Even if they were,
You touched me so slightly,
So lightly I could only feel
The tenderness of them.
Pressure, lightly on my face.

I though,
Of that spot.
That little place
Where your head of hair
Meets the skin of your neck.

That place,
The nape.


I thought of it until I could feel
My little fingers gripping it.
Dragging my nails, lightly,
To feel the shape of your head.

To press, no, to place
To lightly let my lips lay there
On that spot, limply.

To breathe on your skin.
To drag my hands down your chest.
To grab at your arms.
To bite, between these teeth,
To hold the meat of your pulse,
The pulp of your neck in my mouth.

And then I would let.
I would let you have me
The way you wanted.
A porcelain doll, bendable,
fixable.
Put me in those positions!

I want to taste the metal
Shoved inside your tongue.
I wish to smell your salty brow
As you put your head between my breasts.
Rusting in the ample space
They leave for your tired head.

Too tired to think, to lift.
Your two tired eyes, too tired to look.
Your two tired hands, too tired
of holding nothing for so long,
Too tired to let go.

Oh, Scorpion you've become
pressure, lightly on my soul.
another entry in the North Carolina memoir...

please crit, it's been a while :\

edit:: I just realized that I used french in this... there might be some need for translation *ahem*

Light pressure On my skin.
You are a ghost That haunts ma peau, {skin}



et quand je dit les mots dans un autra langue,
C'est different.
{and when I say the words in another language, it's different.}

(Mais, their weight {but,}
Still holds the same)

Heavy pressure On my heart.
Ma tete, c'est bizarre,c'est derange.
Je veux ta visage Dans mes mains.
Tes cheveux - pour juste Un moment -
Etaits perdue dans mes droits.

{my head, it's bizarre, it's deranged.
I want your face in my hands.
Your hair - for just a moment -
was lost in my fingers }

Oh mon Dieu, { oh my god }
My god,
I do not know Who you are.
© 2010 - 2024 so-pretty-when-I-cry
Comments1
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Lovespoon's avatar
Wow. I like this. I'm not sure
what it all means, but it gives a
grand royal feeling.

:heart:

:teddy:
lovespoon