take my hand and climb with me…

one hundred and thirty eight degrees: ‘her hands tied back…’

Girl ~ Beck

one hundred and thirty eight

Your teeth, perfect rosette. Ring. My calf, tattooed. Bite mark, bruising. Colour, of blood. And impotent, anger. Rage, exploding. Your, intent. To break, mine. Grievous, bodily harm. Trussed up, as ‘love’. Fools, no one. Who sees. Skin still, bears. Your livid, scar. Slowly, fading.


Toy diamond ring stuck on her finger…

4 comments on “one hundred and thirty eight degrees: ‘her hands tied back…’

  1. seanbidd
    February 16, 2013

    Love the soft focus and rose colours of wind caught ribbon flesh as I found my eyes listening to the small story, near right…
    In each, little tales. Present, facing east. Wrapped, paper wings. Waiting. Flight above, dark textures. Escape, rising heat. Paper wings, not lost. Pause, the day. Moments… wait.

    • circulartree
      February 17, 2013

      ‘wind caught ribbon flesh…’ love that. Tales, crude paper planes. Message, in a bottle. Whiskey, wings. To traverse, the world. Throw open, every cruel caged. Door. That we, may all. Walk, free…

  2. seanbidd
    February 18, 2013

    “Whiskey, wings. To traverse, the world…. ” love how that flows (what am I saying, I loved the whole string of life’s woven thought above).. (Something I pondered on a while back, someones paradise, might be another’s cage, but life is full of variables like that)… Writing verse in my thoughts the other night, looking up at the stars. Catch the rope, hand over hand. Flee caught, mind depth’s abyss,. Escape.. Skip, kiss, atmosphere. Thermals in the blue beneath. Up on toes, across jet-streamed crystal air. To Sky’s floor, without holes. A spinning freedom, layer. Above, both earth and sea. Caught beneath, way’s spiral band. To walk, free. Stretch out, reach both hands. Feel, the universe. Brush, moments waves. Invisible, like thoughts. Slip through, fingers. Strands like hair. Passing in the solar winds. Each, our stories, never lost, barefoot freedoms, ancient dust. Forgetting time, just not the moment…

  3. circulartree
    February 26, 2013

    Spinning free, forgetting time… so like whiskey, wings. With which, to traverse. A universe.

    Came looking for your lighthouse story, I’m following your blog but clearing wordpress following and email following are ‘different’ – I learn another nuance of IT every day. Battery is running down, I skimmed to find the reference but your words were made for longer times, like treacle. So forgive me my oversight and please send direct link. Thank you 🙂

    Noise falling like sound snow as the sleek silver moon rises in her fullness, Bx

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This entry was posted on February 15, 2013 by in Summer and tagged , , , , , , .


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