Palpitations
Quick, quick, slow.
Scent of a man
He’s not you.
He’s not you...
Pulses that won’t stop
Scent of a woman
She’s not me.
She’s not me...
Quick, quick, slow
I have felt how it moves.
When to give it all...
Does it feel as good
When no one knows
Your real name?
(October 5th)
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2 comments:
Love this poem as well.
That line, "Pulses that won't stop" brings up death for me. Did you mean to do that? Not that anyone is dying, but the word "stop" when paired with pulse conjures death, no matter what else you say.
Pulses never stop until death, so the urgency here? Is not about when pulses will stop. I don't think.
"Pulses relentless."
If I were the Queen of the World?
I would change that line.
But I am not.
It was about death of sorts. About urgency. About the need for some things to die off, and some to live again. Sort of. Ha. There's often long stories attached....
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