Each meeting is greeted with an extra beat,
A fast punching sensation that sparks a rush, An urgency of dread compromised by a mushy sensation floods by, Each movement illustrating the spark created by the friction. Joined by the dawning sense of realisation it retrieves back to its normal pace, Dread evacuates the pipes as comfort flushed through known routes, The bristles pick away the debris, The clean battered system revived to full capacity for future reunification. The flusher remain steady, No curve in pressure or fault, A system of opposite woes that combine and rejoice, Like a magnet, their similarities retract. Despite their repulsive nature, the flusher bulls through the water, Seeking the rush at little expense, A flow easily rekindled at sight, An uncontrollable earthly feel engulfs this grasp.
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Night whispers swim through the short exchange as his nail pierced the skin,
Greeted by the cold refreshing squirt hitting nearby surroundings as his nail persists, Revealing internal delights, As he reaches the end, his lips perched tasting his work. A stimulating but twinge bearing taste reaches his buds, His nails filled with the skins remains, As the surrounding part curled up on the bench, The night sky illuminates its orange flourish. Nature's freshness refined to a ball, Fitting in the hand like a glove as each piece falls apart at the slightest touch, Each piece differs from the rest, Not by its external frame. The delicate palate feels the instantaneous explosion, Expectations no longer exist for it is not possible to tell the unknown, Popping through the cling film covered surface packed one of three possibilities, Bitter, sweet or a duo guarded by its external skin from praying hands. A lustful hope rests on breaching boundaries, No fear of the unknown shall creep, Just solace will exist from its freshness until each piece is gone, Then will the journey home under the night sky commence with a new light. Never said no to one in need,
Definitely one who passed no heed, A friendly smile always filled the air, As he tried to match a pair. His listening ear always turned the tables, As the smoke raised throughout encounters, Joined by surrounding troubles, For he was not one to burst someone’s bubble. The neighbouring nests felt a chill that Thursday morning, For a gentleman had passed through the gates without a warning, Although his flight was short, his heart comforted without a second thought, A heart born not bought. For he is at flight overseeing with his mate, No longer will those darts fly or garage door stick, No more treasure hunts for cable ties or cheeky smile invoking lines, Russian dolls could not shield his talent. For now they stand as his pride, The rattling of wrenches brings warmth to those who pass by, As we have said goodbye. . |
Mary DohertyJust a blog to post some of the offerings I create in my spare time. I hope you enjoy! Archives
September 2019
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