a ray of sunlight

Her freckles are scattered
Like stepping stones across a pond
And her chestnut brown eyes
Are the ray of sunlight
That peaks through the tree
Before it sets, illuminating the pond.

Her freckles fade as frost coats the grass
And her eyes become less radiant
As the nights grow longer.
She dreams of Indonesian summers
And I dream with her.

I see the shimmer return to her eyes
As she unfolds a map
And follows her finger
Along the edges of the islands.
Her toes wiggle and stretch
As she recalls how the sand feels
Beneath them.

My gaze returns to her freckles.
I don’t need to travel to find the sun.

—  Requested by @anna-jumped-ship
Arcadia of Lazaretto

For most part of the days attachment feels too loud a deal for someone who had learnt to stomach the laborious quarantine cruising in blood since infancy. I never fought for rainbows. I was tickled even with petite chunk of grey. The only lullaby I slept to was never the whispers of heartbeats of someone else. My solace rested elegantly in the whist of my breaths. My hands craved to stuff the territory between my fingers, until it was no longer an enclave I wished to replenish. Indifference jacketed the vacuity in a way which could hardly be bottled by ink on the pages that laid like cipher till the first ray of sunlight flickered on the closed windows of my snoozing rib-cage.  The curves on my face don’t owe anything to anyone except for those stars that lingered around on the achromatic nights. My limbs don’t stretch around anymore to get hold of anyone else. I no longer yearn for the warmth radiated from being enveloped in hug. I have been in love with the placidity strolling in my veins. The bliss of seclusion jamming the pores with enchantment.

- Inspired from the beautiful piece of @infamouslyroggy about solitude.

with a bang

in my bathing suit
on the fourth floor
by the pool…
while moments ago,
in the harsh light of the bathroom
i gave myself a solid b-
which isn’t bad considering the mileage,
the extra baggage,
not quite the package
i once was…

the water shimmers in the sunlight
the wind teases my skin
and the rays of light create
non-colored brightness
on my thighs,who sees me;
i am only as visible as the
un-chlorinated water,
completely see-thru
without that cast of blue
i am a cipher.

only worthy of a glance
eyes bouncing from my
solid b-
to all the t & a
of the a-’s, a’s and a++’s
with a little help from silicon valley.
their flesh deeply tanned,
their tits like monuments
to the momentas they defy gravity
while they lie
supine
on their backs.

the men
from balding middle ages
to the tall teenagers
have roving eyes
that seem to bounce from
ba-donka-donk to
d-cups to
supple thighs
with sighs
just behind their lips
not-so subtle in their visual
gymnastics,
mouths slightly spastic
as they skim over my b-
for the a’s of youth and
plasticity
elasticity
the transparency of their gaze
making it easy for me to observe.

i remember the days
when i drew the stares
putting on airs
like they were staring ‘over there’
when it was my curves that
drove them past 80
and my youth that trumped my
knowing-ness.
things are simpler
now that i’m invisible
divisible
only by my thoughts
remembering that i have more
—thoughts-
than the oglers could handle
and more depths than the ogled
could fathom;
from the balding eagles
to the ravenous ravens
while they pass by my matronly self.

i wonder if they know
i know how to make their toes curl
in 12 seconds flat—
if they know i have more
erogenous zones than a 15 year old boy
at his first dance…
do they know i can make them come
with a whisper
in their ear?
that i like it like they do
and will tell them
without the games?
do they know
i don’t expect anything more
than a tangled mess of hair,
sweat and animal need?
that i don’t need a call
don’t need them to fall
at my feet and worship me
(but while they’re down there,
i’ll give 'em something worthwhile
to do).

ah but i’m just see-thru
here at the pool
watching them drool
over a dream or two
and then they can
go back to their bottomless lives
their frigid-assed wives
and i can feel the sun warming me
just there,
privately aware
of my power
my b- power
with a bang.

© j.a. carter-winward

Monday 8:27am
I woke up with you on my mind.
You called me babe last night —
my heart is still pounding.

Tuesday 10:53pm
Today I realized we won’t work.
What we are is hurting her.
And I think she matters more to me than you do.

Wednesday 11:52pm
I broke things off with you today.
She barely said a word.
I’ve never regretted anything more than this.

Thursday 4:03pm
I shouldn’t have sent that message.
You shouldn’t have been so okay with receiving it.

Friday 9:57pm
I almost messaged you today.
I didn’t.

Saturday 8:49pm
I’m walking around town in search of alcohol.
They say that liquor numbs the pain of having a broken heart.
I want to put that to the test.

Sunday 2:32am
I heard you texted a girl you’ve never spoken to before.
I wonder if it’s because you’re trying to replace me.
I can’t help but wish you weren’t.
I thought I was irreplaceable.

—  a week with you on my mind, c.j.n.