Silence Soft and Darkness Tender


XXXI Days of Poetry - Day the Twenty-eighth

  





Silence Soft and Darkness Tender 





I
Silence soft, 
and Darkness tender
Dewdrops of Night 
gently coat the world.
Thick black-grey ink, 
soaked up by parched 
parchment, its secret 
shrouded awhile longer.






II
Silence soft, and Darkness tender
She lies in bed covered in a cloak of Night.
Invisible are the tear stains that long-since 
washed away her makeup in rivulets down her face. 
Eyes so red and swollen they are virtual slits, 
she is grateful for the comforting darkness. 
No one to see her private shame. Not even her. 
Allowed to just let it go, and let it be, 
and let the numbness finally wash over.





III
Silence, soft, and Darkness, tender
He could feel her quiver next to him; 
nerves, excitement, anticipation, and 
just the slightest shivery touch of fear. 
She trembled at his touch, feeling the
drops of persperation bloom across her
very-soon-to-be tongue-scratched skin.

He knew where to put his hands on her 
body, not all can say the same. Sure, 
there are the areas everyone thinks of;
they are important, but there are other
areas, hidden spots, on a woman's body, 
just as there are hidden chambers to a 
woman's heart, and he knew where these 
were, and knew how to find those that 
were specific to just her. More than 
knowing where to put his hands, though, 
he know How to put his hands on her body, 
how hard, soft, rough, gently, in order 
to guide her to where she wanted to go, 
where she dreamt of going but had never 
been; where she didn't know was possible. 








XXXI Days of Poetry (2016)


Read more Poetry, including previous year's "31 Days"






[ART - 
     Intro: "Atropos (The Fates)" by Francisco Goya (1746–1828)  
     Outtro: "Twilight my eternal damnation" self-portrait photographed by Sandy Damanse - see her artwork]









 One of my favorite lines I ever wrote,
 in another poem years ago. I always wanted 
the phrase to headline its own poem

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