the heart laid bare

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the one time
prisoner
iris
adore
delicate
Untitled 10
never him
lockdown
procrastinating
advice to the imaginary man of my hypothetical dreams
the tenth month
purple hearts
vigil
a glossary of terms
a week forever ago
The sixteenth
the curse
Under seige
Beyond the blues
Introspect
Balloon
push
a strange distance
SWIMMING ALWAYS DOWNWARD
A ONCE-FAMILIAR LANDSCAPE
No Apology
the thunder
tinder
critical shortage
the sky we thought we knew
CIRCA SOLEM
almanac
baby
dearest orlando
FIVE MONTHS
A LETTER TO THE UNDESERVING
cactus heart
would we
the fall of giants
paradise lost
Dad
after you've gone
time
a smile from the eyes
trepidation
why so cold
fix this
swallow me
untitled 8
insular
cry alone
robin
quicksand
laces
D.I.S.C.
stripped
waving goodbye
your open eyes
enemy within
mortal
untitled 4
sleepless
OUTSIDER
untitled 9
come dream with me
in the face of adversity
one word
the dark of the night
untouchable
one and one makes two
you burn me
see me
this shaken core
my lover
helen
my room
his words
foolish
rita
chalk drawings
the longest night
stupid skeleton
CLOTHES MAKETH
FIRST LASTS
STELLAR
TODAY
I WATCHED A MAN DIE TODAY
THREE WEEKS
this slippery slope
untitled 5
Arrows
First Kiss
The Talk Of Love
Nicotine
Blackout

the one time

The one time you got me to cut your hair,
You were surprised that I insisted on trimming it all short with scissors first,
So that the clippers didn't choke on it.

Your dark curls with their wisps of interwoven silver slipped silkily between my fingers as I tugged them away from your scalp,
Then hissed against the snick of the blades before tumbling like fallen leaves around my feet.

Your soft, boyish charm fell away under the work of my careful hands
As you sat in front of me, my legs entwined with yours.
I stepped around your knees as I sheared the youthfulness from your scalp.

You lean back and rest your head against the comfort of my body once I am finished,
Dusting my already covered clothing in still more stubble.
I chuckle and brush the stray hair from your brow.

The intimacy of these small moments are the lifeblood of love;
They endure long beyond those first flushes of infatuation
Or the elaborate romantic gestures.
A memory in the years to come of a shared moment,
Where 'nothing special' becomes very special indeed.



© mjc 31 May 2022

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Biography

Daughter, sister, aunt, godmother, friend; self-confessed hermit, confirmed cat person, sporadic baker, irreformable yarncrafter, voracious reader; occasional wit, voluble shower vocalist, frequent sacrifice on the altar of brain-to-mouth filter fails, unrepentant purveyor of puns and dad jokes, writer and poet.

I have always lived by the theory that no matter what you do for a living - if you are compelled to write, if you wake up in the night to scrawl the contents of your dreams on a notebook beside the bed, if no event in your life seems complete without you recording it, if you are drawn to comment upon the world - then you are a writer.

These are my words.