day 3 finger fight

Moses in the Wild
Sep 6, 2018 · 1 min read

I am the image of fear. She asked me and I could only respond that it is me that I fear the most. Rabid wolf… stretching your arms over head. My favorite activity rotating that posterior .. I am cavalier… kisses like stones thrown against the glass of your joyful roam.

Walk with me… ease and jog with me, struggle like pillow fights and hard left side striding… your howl is like mine.. unstable.

The bed is pushed and the floor is bowed. The car is started and the words are thick, thick like acceptance… who loves the angler’s toss, me tossing you around that room. My catch thrown back and again snared.

You have become sacred and the rumination is spelling your name with 2 letters. I am biting my lip, to stop biting you. Biting my arm to stay alive in the swirl of deeper fallen angelic dive. Love is an eyelash on your finger held to my lips.. I will say your name. It will sound heavy as I use it to sanctify my intention, naked begging your hand. Born for this, molded for this.

The dawn is open now, that nighttime relief, is open now.

photo credit: unknown photographer… tango

Written by

Texan love stories, Christianity, recovery, Bret Marston Hall

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