The life and times of Deborah Spake

Cinderella

And he who gave me the shoe that fits and by midnight took it back and returned it…  he will remain my prince long after the foot  impresses the sand and tides have shattered the hour.  Long after the cinders and ash have covered the hearth..  And will linger like coals to reignite the dancing silluette, reflections that round the edges of my empty corner.

(Rochester, NY. Winter 2009)

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Post It

You make me feel beautiful and sexy – even when my face is puffy and my hair is messy.

You make me feel loved and pretty whether we see each other often or un–intentionally.

You make me feel smart and like I should be dancing..

Whether the music is on or off, We’re just bein friends or romancing..

Even as words get lost –

When my mind’s a blank – the way you remember little things I forgot I’d said, a “post it” smile and you rise to the top of my “to do” pile.

Thank goodness for you!

 

 (Rochester, NY. Spring 2009)

 

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Open

The photos in my head flip fast – love of the present, love of the past.

Hot showers, touch on my back,

Your hand on my throat, the way your mouth stays open,

Moist in your stare - I am soaking.


Lips that stop breath, soft suction to nipple like flesh.

My branches part to  make room for what you awaken,

Our limbs to intertwine into the tree, roots we allow down below are shaking.

Leaves fall and leave me bare and willing.. for you grasp me with palm open and I am held and freely giving.

 

(Rochester, NY. Spring 2009)

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FLINT TO THE RHYTHM

I didn’t ask for much .. and got side swiped in return.

And yet the gravity of us keeps me strong.

What do you do when you meet the end of your sentence –

In the essence of another person’s presence?

And he’d have you in pieces while your heart is big enough to hold him whole..

Tic tic, running with a handful of sticks,

Don’t lose your footing as you loosen your grip.

Pat, pat – he had you at ‘keroac’ –

As your thoughts fire to the same heat,

Flint to the rhythm – daring you to speak..

Fast catch to the fly – our minds sync and bait..

Illuminate and singe the sides.

To collide and spill over me .. my other, my other certainty undenied.

 

(Rochester, NY. Spring 2009, for my ‘other’)

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Slipping.. Bridge Over Strings

Can I peel my hungar off the corner of your mouth?

Can I stir between my thighs, soften and light up in your eyes

While we sit – strings over a bridge to loosen the tensions between us?

I’d like to slip into your brain for a while, unzip your synapses with my teeth.  I find your thoughts arousing, your words corral me.

I quiver in the proximity of how you think.

I am wet from things said and unsaid,

For even between those plutonic sheets there is embedded arousal.

Our minds give and take foreplay for hours.

And as we play – we are adjusting the tensions, exchanging breath – keeping the strings taute and the lips wet,

To open another session, we take smoke breaks as if we’d been sweating and naked.  But we were slipping in and out of the love our mind’s were making.

 

(Rochester, NY. Spring 2009, for my ‘other’)

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