The Erotic Writer

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between the lines

My soul isn’t in my smile
or my touch, however warm.
It’s not in my hair, or my kiss
or the hot press of my thighs.

It’s definitely not in what lies between them.

My soul is not in my gaze
or in my laugh, however riotous and sincere.
It’s not in the swing in my step, or the perfume I wear
or the timbre of my voice.

My soul is
every single word of each thought I wrote to you
You saw, felt, heard, tasted the best of me
unfiltered, uncensored, naked
eons more intimate than sweaty bodies entwined
we touched upon something that must be given freely
and can’t be faked–

Or so I thought, yet I’m here alone.

You don’t owe me a thing I think every night
lying in a bed that’s voluntarily cold –
I can’t stand the feel of another
it’s a cheap mockery
a weak echo
of the warmth that I once conjured to give me faith
even when I didn’t know your face but…

You don’t owe me a thing. No promises were uttered.

You don’t owe me a thing? I ask myself
Not even an explanation, apology, even a goddamned goodbye
or a fucking fare thee well?
The high road has never felt more hollow.
With empty hands aloft
and downcast eyes overflowing
my reveille each morning and my lullaby each night remains…

You don’t owe me a thing. There were never any guarantees.

You don’t owe me a goddamned thing I repeat to myself
using up the remnants of the faith I once wasted on you
hoping it’ll sink into my stubborn head
praying it’ll seep down into my chest
—  so empty after all that could’ve been turned to naught —
and quiet the surprised cries of the broken heart that knows too well
you’re a day late and a dollar short.

About ximenawrites

I undulate in your vision A strange beauty in a world of plastic, collagen and steel The endearing oddball the living, breathing Picasso that you want to figure out but too afraid to venture into my penumbra you cower at the gate, fingering the knob on the door to my most secret place wishing you could find the courage to walk with me love me, just as I am

4 comments on “between the lines

  1. Jes
    January 9, 2012

    Wow, this was how I felt a few months ago. Thank you for putting it into words.

  2. Squeaky
    January 9, 2012

    Wow. Powerful stuff, Ximena. Beautifully paced and heart-wrenching.

  3. paul1510
    January 9, 2012

    I can only second Squeaky, wonderful.
    Warm hugs,

  4. vanillamom
    January 9, 2012

    wow, X, i sure hope this is fiction…it is gut-wrenching.

    it is pure, raw, animal pain

    it is damned fine writing…

    and it broke my heart to feel it…


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This entry was posted on January 8, 2012 by in Poetry, Ximena and tagged , , , , .

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Crimsonian & Obsidian Lens

The Obsidian Lens and Crimsonian contain links to password-protected stories from the Erotic Writers with darker themes. For more information on Obsidian Lens, click here. Email William Crimson directly for admission to the Crimsonian.

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This blog contains adult material. If you are a minor, please go. If you are an adult, you are welcome to stay but be warned, this blog contains erotic fiction and images - sexually explicit content abounds. The themes sometimes tend toward the darker and weirder corners. Be your own judge when deciding what to read.

The rights to all stories by William Crimson are reserved by William Crimson. The rights to all stories by Monocle are reserved by Monocle. The rights to all stories by Ximena are reserved by Ximena.

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