Happy Valentine’s Day!
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Never did I know this will happen:
inappropriate courtship of my feelings.
Announced it happens and
it doesn’t recognize
day or hour.
No age and no place
exists in a love play.
With rushing wave and
crushed to ground
I drink possibility from
your salty lips before
I enter inviting sweetness.
Darkness envelopes me
in sudden expectations
and skin awakens with memory
of buried wanting.
Your eyes still haunt me,
apparition in every corner.
And I hurry back to my old life
before impossible turns me into dust.
Maja S. Todorovic
If you liked this post, please share. And, If you you are interested in getting more inspiration for your creativity, writing and personal growth, sign up for our free monthly newsletter. You’ll get a free e-book with 31 daily prompts to inspire your writing. To learn more about coaching opportunities click here. For additional tips, follow us on twitter and connect with us on facebook.
Your touch is a multiple
sensation of undulating currents,
pulsating limbs:
concave urges initiate every cell
for complementary tangible breath.
In radiance, I crave for more.
Maja S. Todorovic
My lungs are one large, deflated balloon,
sitting somewhere in the lost chair.
I grew branchiae instead.
You perfectly fit to this porous body,
viscous in masculine, bogus, warm-heartedness.
My shoulders carry dark cloud,
exercising lifting of heavy thoughts.
I know I’m cute, but can’t offer you a smile.
Maybe an open umbrella?
You are amorphously
voiceless, unbroken:
chameleon of the day.
Maja S. Todorovic
Wears its own fame.
Starting with B.
I like how B blows out of my mouth.
Like a playful Boo!
child’s ambush from
a hidden corner
or
your surprise from behind,
hands eclipsing my eyes
and kiss in the neck,
wistful sighs.
R likes to roll on my tongue.
Wants to get out –
doesn’t want to get out.
Jumps, bounce of my teeth
and rolls like a train speeding its feet.
S likes to become shhhhh…
when I put my heavy, tired head on your
chest, nest.
All vowels and consonants
are disciplined solders, creating brigades of
syllables,
always ready to march,
when desire knocks on the door of my mouth.
Hurrying deep south.
Maja S. Todorovic
Also published here.
The air has your color
the memory of its own,
repeatable sense to remind
me how hips shared hunger and
joined hands traveled the same path
of untold story.
The time tastes after your touch,
after the sound of every stripped
particle, wanting to get lost
in you, collided with the meaning
of existence.
And the space collected every drip
skipped from the lip, a tear, a sweat,
scorched on the bathroom floor
fossilized witness of how I wish to
die – curled in you, sigh extant.
Maja S. Todorovic
The way I slept naked on the floor;
The way I hid myself from the sun;
The way I ate uncooked food with my bare hands;
The way I flossed my teeth three times a day;
The way I laughed at your stupid jokes;
The way I adored your razor-blade thin smile;
The way your huge hands held me around my waist
is the way I loved you.
And still do.
Maja S. Todorovic
A memory:
His dry, pale cheeks burn
as smile begins to peek,
chain of glowing pearls
overshadows incoming dawn.
Her porcelain skin aches,
in sweet and soft pain, electrified,
under his fingers, tied.
Now: they are just two strangers
each sleeping on his side of the bed.
She wonders…,
yet she knew the answer:
“Life, larger than us,
that’s what happened”.
Maja S. Todorovic
Why do I need to pretend?
You say: ”I’ve always had good intent!”
yet your eyes sparkle every time
I plead for your fragile approval?
I’m not who you expect me to be.
I can’t be something you need for you
to continue your life in peace.
I’m confused, I still search
to make that little girl inside me smile
run after rainbow and collect stars;
swing on the moon and walk
across the Sun;
jump over the mountains
and play charades with whales
in ocean fountains.
That little girl is so scared,
impaired by false assumptions
she need to take care of you
instead to accept:
“Here, within myself I belong to!”
And I can tell you
that little girl is very close to finding her truth
lying in between two smooth edges of tomorrow
where she’s conquering beautiful world’s burrow
and yesterday when you held her tight to comb her hair.
Who said life is fair?
Stop to fight, let her go.
Maja S. Todorovic
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