I’m not doing day six. It’s about writing poems with soft sounds and ones with hard sounds, then determining which one makes you feel more. This is how I picture it.
whish whoosh wush foosh frawash
shush shush shush, I said be quiet.
mish mush mooshoomoosho
fuck fuck fuck
fuckin fuckity fuck fuck fuck
suck it fucker
you fucking fuck
(I tried to combine the punctuationlessness of yesterday with this prompt because I kinda feel the same way about it.)
So yeah, gonna skip that one. Day 7 is a poetic love list of 21 details about my human experience that make me fall in love with life and savour it.
All of the reasons I love it.
- The way my toes feel when they sink into sand after the ocean recedes is like giving over control to something more intense and beautiful than I can comprehend.
- The way my skin feels when I know it’s going to thunder and lightning outside, as though my goosebumps are my senses communicating with the future via braille.
- The way good whiskey or bourbon smells when it’s cold. Pour some over 2 cubes of ice, swirl left, swirl right, continue in one direction, then the other until it smells cold. You’ll know when you’re there.
- The gasp that turns into a laugh because that thing you’re doing with your fingers delights me in such a way that I get confused about how it makes me feel, mostly because I’m feeling everything at once. No, I didn’t say stop.
- The way fall smells when you realize that it’s almost Hallowe’en. Like darkness and ritual wrapped up in the good kind of scared and bone china moonlight.
- The look in your eyes when you see that I see that you’re going to kiss me and I’m really quite pleased about it.
- The moment when I fall into bed and it’s so amazing that I can’t believe I stayed up so late, aka bedgasm.
- Strawberries, perfectly ripe.
- When music reaches out, curls it’s smoky fingers under my chin, calling me to dance.
- The way it feels to sit on a board, feet in the sea, looking out and seeing, from so far away, the wave that belongs to me.
- Walking home in the late of the evening, the early of the morn, inhabiting that space between night and day.
- The way my brain and body feel when I know that something worth writing is on it’s way. As though all of the possible combinations that words could be used in might all come flooding out at once. And be glorious.
- The way it feels when I actually manage to sit down and write something, without being distracted by all the shiny, which includes my own innumerable variations on self sabotage.
- When it gets dark enough to see the pathways I’ve lit up. Seeing people react to that with joy and giddy.
- When my friends do a thing that makes them understand how awesome they are, which is how I see them all the time.
- All the poets who ever loved someone enough to write about it.
- When things smell like good memories I’ve forgotten entirely, except for the smell.
- Watching Serenity be born.
- The moment when he said, why would you think that? And then kissed me. For three days.
- Sex. Wow, was that ever a good idea.