I think that I have forgotten how to make small talk. Wait… I Never had that skill. How do people develop that skill? I only care about the weather if it’s interesting or raining, I like rain. I can talk about fashion, wait… No I can talk about style and what I like about some fashionable items. What else do we have, my day? I help people with technical issues. And really I don’t remember them as individuals, so my stories are limited there. I could complain about work cause that’s fun. So what else does small talk constitute? Ideas, anyone?
Author: Pelgris
Storm the gates
In the spaces you are, I find joy. Your smile upturned, makes my heart beat faster, and only restraint keeps me from kissing you.
I want you as one cast out who seeks redemption in your heaven.
Even my private sanctuaries are empty without you. I am not unaware of your broken places. I merely see them as the first flowers of beauty.
My ability to contain myself is coming to a ragged end. I must speak, even in this obscure forum, else lose my heart completely.
Share this:
Heart gives voice
What does it say of my life, that a slip of the tongue is the most disastrous thing to befall me. So safe have I become that the wrong words pave the way to heartache. When in my youth, ill-conceived action would have led to blood, to loss of fortune and life. And now in my safety, I look back on perilous times and see them as good.
The triumph of survival rings heavy then fades. The soft blandishments of current circumstance pale next to the risks of youth. These soft courtesies, small steps, enticements to a love longed for, all seem foolish now. In youth, I would have taken and ravished her.
Strength and fury, the hotness of passion welling up from the dark steps to fill sky with actinic display. But now, years past beyond the reckless of youth, speak words of poetry and hope she will want what I am now. Though knowing, this soft copy of who I was, this faded version of warrior poet, so pale. So wan with grief and times passage, who could want this.
I feel an old man now, though I know only middling years. I sit in my tower, surrounded by books and comfort, fortune frittered away. I write missives to you and hurt full, bursting, overflow as in youth remember. I wait, amidst silence, hoping that this time… This time you’ll find me.
Share this:
She dances
Scarves whirl about her
Chaotic, frenetic smile
Sweet blood, lost pattern
Share this:
What started as discussion becomes introspection
There is a marked difference in rough trade. In tie me up tie you down and Dominance and Submission. The former are tools in the toolbox of D&S but they are not the point. I think that people get focused on the physical aspects and this is all they see.
Myself, I like receiving pain. I enjoy it. But at no point am I submissive. I don’t follow orders well. I have Submitted on occasion, generally to become a better Dominant. Seeing things from that perspective is a valuable asset. But my submission was for the scene alone. I wasn’t living as a submissive.
And I don’t crave being submissive to someone; it is not a need for me. But I’m coming to realize that neither is being Dominant. I don’t need it. I enjoy it, but it is not a need. I like being a Dominant to a submissive because they enjoy it. It is a feedback loop for me.
I like rough trade and like being slapped, like nails that draw blood, like pain. But I feel only a need to pleasure my partner. I don’t know what that means. But I like the acceptance of fringe society as well. It’s why I like BDSM, why I like Goth. Why I like artists and poets, writers and musicians. All live on, live in society but are in ways not of society and that makes them more accepting.
I have long Identified as a BDSM Top. But I wonder how much of that is a result of my relationship with Sara and with Eric. Other than them leaving, by very different routes, I would not change what we had. And I would still be more thoroughly ensconced in that life if they were still a part of mine. But I wonder now, if I am still that. Or like a chameleon, do I simply shift to the desires of those around me, taking the pleasures where I can from what they desire. I honestly don’t know.
Share this:
Winter Tree
Soft light, raven lands
Twisted limbs reaching to sky
Reaching for love flown
Share this:
Lost in the stream
Truth shifts and in the shifting,
tilt axis,
reveals the false flame of a love still burning.
Unreasonable and unrequited,
which on surface purity bend,
but on the making reveal revolution.
Bound desire to be desired where hope slinks,
carmadine gaze,
slick surface of dramatic turn.
But in the question we are free.
Free to fall, free to fail
Only cold burn to entropy’s lips
A kiss passionate and yearning
But slanderous tongue in rage
Bit back depredation, drawn blood
The taste of copper course down throat
Made thick with words unsaid
Lies made tangible by omission
Share this:
The heart loves and the mind has no choice but to follow
What tears and mind do portend
What shallow reckoning
With speed of sorrow do forfend
This essence flickering
As the candle gutters out
Of your guiless sibilance
Do memories of love show rout
False flag fails fair remembrance
Romance dies ere it lived
A tragedy looking back
But heart still loves, still yearns, still bled
So mind must follow though it knows better than to chase it’s lack
Oh, silly heart, with rhyme you seek but Piercing veil with naught to speak
She doesn’t see you, doesn’t want you
It’s time to walk away
Share this:
Green and fecund
I’m a madness, a slow infection burn
Fingertips dip through flesh
Trace nerve endings, drawn ragged breathe
And the sad whimpering ache of times passing
Share this:
Strains of cello
The steady beat of a heart unseen
Give rapid pulse of shy ivory
Sinking down quiescent
Last dream of departed sun
Quick breathe held
Pains grasping hand reaching
Sleep soundly now
Now done with seeking
Fear’s choice made mock
Slow path agonizing set to rot
Soft strains of Danse
Fading
Pelgris 