Bittersweet Ending The water hits my skin, and i’m drawn to the heat Like a locust to a lamp Victim to it’s own essentiality I hold my shoulders and I long for you. I imagine your warm fingertips drawing my silhouette A silent mockery to the perfect framework you make present in my glass shower. Empty and desolate....a common companion. The water, hot, drips down my curvature. My lips pressed against my shoulder Eyes tight, fighting the inevitable They will never quench my thirst, not like you. Drenched in my contemporary refinements You redefine me Fluttering freely to an imminent end I’am the locust, and you are my lamp And bittersweet ending.
i don't understand and therefore don't like a lot poetry, but i liked this. you're a good writer in my eyes. (and now i am done stalking you haha)
Many creative acts are solitary, such as writing and painting, which can be the doorway to reflection and insight. In order to find the right words or expressive image, the creator has to go deeper within to a place of non-ego, a surrendering to the creation itself. As writers, we often look back at what we have written and wonder where the words have come from as we have little memory of having written them. It is as if we had dissolved into the creation of the writing.
