Writing 201 – Ode/Metaphor – Promised Land


To praise the softness of your skin would be a noble pleasure.

But the mounds of muscles that anchor on your chest are a struggle of roads and paths that make skin so soft, hard underneath.

You are a safety haven, a place that I call home, you are the soldier of the open road coming back to me.

And I travel down the pathway of your arms and pause a moment at the roads of muscle, my fingertips on your back.

I stop a moment at the nape of your neck and kiss a trail up to your earlobe and suck on it, an apple from the tree knowledge.

Running my fingers through your hair, the tug and pull is aimless, it smells like citrus, wood, and a place I call my own.

Your lips are a valley I often travel, the palace of a kingdom; a warm and wet holiday in a place of intense hot weather.

Your eyes are the blue that see through me, they reflect, and they are a mirror; they make me feel I am a jewel, the most precious of all stones.

But deep inside your heart beats and your soul is a hungry vessel; I know the dangers of this journey, of here there could be peril.

You are a map to the hidden kingdom, and I am the only one who knows the way – you are my soul and my heartbreaker, my own promised land.

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Writing 201 – prose/internal rhyme – Oranges and Napes


You love the smell of oranges. That sweet tangy delicious citrus flavour; it’s something to savour. You peel off an oranges thick pebbled skin and reveal the oval shaped raw fruit within; oranges remind you of summer scrapped  from spring’s cold paw. Summer is a season with no reason if you can believe. Sometimes it just rains and it’s a pain but the farmer’s need it for harvest. There are a variety of skins that fruit and vegetables hide in. Squash is orange with blemishes; and egg plant purple and posh;peaches have a fuzzy skin. You love eating peaches it’s such a sin. Or maybe it’s baking them into a crisp; there’s also cherries — black, dark red — swallowing their pits is a risk; and baby carrots that are nubby, you need to wash them with a little scrubbing. 

There are all kinds of skin, but the most delicate skin is human. Think of baby thighs and tummies – the most precious skin of all. Or the skin at the nape of your neck; that spot is hot, with a thousand sensory spots which a man can follow playing connect the dot and make a shape. But then you are reminded, you are in the kitchen peeling off orange skin while his lips graze your neck ending with a feeling filled peck. You’re at a loss  as you eat your orange slices thinking of vices and lips at your nape when he leaned over you whispering words you never suspected.