Your Touch (New Graphic Art Version)
NSFW
Patchwork Quilt
I wish I could remember all of you, But what I am left are just fragments, Some sweet, some bitter, some angry, All withstanding the test of time, If you asked me to describe you From head to toe, I couldn’t. I could only describe the furrow Of your brow when you felt insecure, Or the intensity of your eyes When you desired me, Or the gape of your smile at its peak When you help others, Or the soft strength of your bicep As it brushed against my cheek When you tucked me into bed once, The gentle rise and fall Of your chest as you sleep, Unassuming, not a care in the world, I remember the pattern of your leg hair, And how I wanted to run my fingers through it From your calves up to your thighs, I remember you inside me, The feeling, the sound, The weight of your body over mine, How your body enveloped me, And safely cuddled me after, I cannot remember every word you said, Or full conversations we had, I just remember singular sentences Like “never say never”, Or the fact that you forced me so hard To learn your language without first easing me into it, Sometimes, what I remember most Is the “uhs” and the “ums” That you inserted in between sentences, Unsure of your place in the world Yet alone our conversation, I mainly remember, all the words You never told me like “I love you”, Even if deep down inside you meant it, You never told me, I remember those small moments, Literally milliseconds, snapshots of who you are Because I never had all of you, just a piece, You never let me have all of you, I still carry the pieces of the men That they freely gave me, Like a patchwork quilt Until a man’s love can cloak my whole heart, And give me the warmth and safety I deserve ~By Hyacinth Hale
Pillow Fort Fortress
Why is love pain?
I cut myself open just to heal you,
But you turn your back,
And say that you don’t need saving,
The tears rolling down your face
Tell a different story,
And so the story goes
Until I trip and stumble,
You try to pick me up, and
I’m too hard headed and hurt
To let you, my pride my down fall,
So pots and pans,
And plates and glasses,
And words are tossed; until,
Arms and legs and lip
Are entangled in the sheets
I bought and you hate,
Under the sheets,
Our pillow fort fortress,
Our entangled peace treaty,
Where friendly fire is encouraged,
Where the world melts away in your arms,
And the problems of yesterday
Are tomorrow’s problem,
All that matters is the smell of your skin,
And the heat in your touch,
And the taste of your lips,
As you recommit your love to me,
And we heal what bonds us together
~By Hyacinth Hale
Your Touch
I crave your touch even when you are not around,
Your strength, your security, your warmth at night,
The teasing tandem of gentle roughness
As you vacillate back and forth, pushing and pulling,
Swaying my body to the primal rhythm of attraction,
Feeling for anything plump and pleasing to hold onto,
When you are away from me,
I want to feel your finger pads
Brush against my skin one more time,
You give me goose pimples on my flesh,
Each touch a delightful surprise,
Each second you stare at me waiting is torturous anticipation
Of the velvety softness that are your lips,
Wondering what body part they will kiss next,
I daydream of your touch in the silliest of places,
At work, as I’m doing dishes, in the grocery line,
Staring out a window, anywhere banal and lonely,
But the thought of your touch excites me, unnerves me,
Makes me flush pink, and curl my toes in my shoes,
I think of how your fingers trace the outline of my face,
And how they stimulate my nipples,
And dig into my waist as you pull me in close,
Thrusting your hips onto mine, thrusting deep inside me, slow and angled,
Letting your fingers take a stroll in my secret garden
As they twirl around with childlike enthusiasm,
Letting the intensity build, until there is no choice, it is too intense,
And you have to come to my rescue,
I want to feel your naked body pressed against mine,
Spooning me, caressing my curves with your muscles,
I want to feel your belly rise, and your belly fall,
To know you are near, to be so intertwined,
To not know where you start and I begin,
To feel something else of yours rise, and for my mouth to fall open,
First, in surprise and then, to move into position,
To show you just how special your touch is to me,
I am lost in your touch, and I am found in your touch,
You will never know what a reassuring squeeze means to me,
To be held in your arms, to nuzzle into your neck,
To know that you will hold me together
When everything else falls apart,
I only hope my touch does the same
~ By Hyacinth Hale
Pink Slip (New Graphic Art Version)
Fire Fighter (New Graphic Art Version)
Pink Slip
I slipped away early, taking my thirty, Eating my pretzels, And shopping online for cardigans, You came and found me, Asked if I was ok Because I did not take my lunch at 2:30, You did not hear me leave, But twenty minutes later, You noticed my absence, And your only sadness was that I wasn’t there ready and willing to say Goodbye when you left, Most days you say goodbye to everyone in the office, And pass by me in silence Not even turning your head to look back, The days you do stop and talk It’s all about you, And I got tired of waiting, I was happy scrolling and crunching, In my cramped kitchen fruit fly infested oasis, Part of me knew you’d come for me, Black holes search for the light, and though mine dims for you, It’s not quite extinguished, I can see you thinking, Asking the bare minimum questions, But never the ones I want to answer, Good! Let my mystery fester, Let it eat at you Like the bile churning in my stomach, When for a brief moment, I think, “huh…he came for me” Before I remember all the times you left me, All the times you chased other women, Literally, spending hundreds of dollars Just to impress them at the clubs here, You must think me cheap or boring, Well, these red lips would kiss you goodbye, But it’s not worth smudging my makeup, And no, I did not wear it for you or some other guy, I just like the meditation of painting my secrets, And the deep desire for others to finally listen, You are afraid of losing me, It’s funny because you gave no thought To leaving me behind, But I dare not to orbit around your periphery For thirty minutes, and you come find me, Tell me I’m not eating at “2:30”, If I was not in the kitchen, Would you have barged into the bathroom? You’re worse than a toddler Because at least a toddler tells you what they want! You never told me you wanted me, You only act like you do until I give in, And you can walk away satisfied While I yearn for more, I smile at you with my red lips, Clenching my resentment, I am not yours; you made that clear, You are not mine; you made that clear, You are leaving that is clear, And you won’t even throw a Hail Mary, And clear the air, Let me take my thirty minutes of peace, Let me slip away in quiet solitude, Be one with the fruit flies, And buy the cardigan in the world I created without you Because the fruit flies are less bothersome Than the blood sucking mosquito you have become! By Hyacinth Hale
Trace
I trace my lips thinking what it would be like for yours to press against mine, To be of one breath, one mind, one body, one soul, if only for a moment, to feel your warmth, your desire, unashamed, I trace my lips and feel the soft velvety wetness As I salivate thinking of the taste of your tongue, My lips parting, humbly submitting As your pink flesh gently caresses mine, I fear no danger, not from you, Nor the bacteria that resides in your mouth, Some things are worth the risk, You are, love is, the kind of love I want is, I trace my lips sucking the tip of my finger, Imagining it is your fat bottom lip, Not wanting your kiss to end even in my imagination, I imagine pulling you in close to me, kissing you harder, Getting lost in your mouth and high off your pheromones, I trace my lips feeling silly, We haven’t even touched, No love nor feelings declared, Only the lust of long haughty stares, As my red lips draw your eyes and drop your jaw, bouncing from my breasts to my lips to my eyes and back to my lips, A gasp comes out in the moment, and a sigh comes out later, As I trace my fingers thinking of your lips pressed against my ear, You wooing me in your native tongue, Though I don’t speak it, I understand your meaning, I understand the meaning of your lips pressed against mine, I trace my lips for albeit the ghost like residue of lust and love commingling on my skin, yours and mine, For now, a trace of you will have to satiate my appetite For the lips of a man not yet mine, Not owned by me but bravely surrendered, I wait for your gallant surrender, as you wait for my supple permission, My fingers leave my lips, and they trace my heart until the day your fingers can trace my body, and your lips can find mine without a trace ~ By Hyacinth Hale
Solitary Woman (New Graphic Art Version)
The Fog of Sunrise (New Graphic Art Version)
Hyacinth Hale Poetry 