Bare

Night falls and the stars rise.

The warm dusk fades into dark, a single seamless brushstroke. The air is chilly and crisp now, just a hint of soft caramel wafting through.

In my mind, you are standing in the centre of the chaos, though perhaps that is only a reconstruction.

The night seems to fade out from you, as though you’ve leeched the colours of this world and captured it within your soul.

The night mist billows around, making you seem as though you stand among the clouds.

The light you cast flutters like a moth, extending its warm silken glow to the chosen few upon which it falls. 

 If this world were a kaleidoscope, you would be the momentary confluence of the reflections, the point at which everything ends and begins. 

When my eyes catch on you, this muddled life settles into place, like a lens coming into focus, pieces of a puzzle that finally click. 

You are the apex of my sphere, the cornerstone of my being. Underneath your gaze, I am grounded, yet flying; shackled, yet free.

You are the echo of a tune that I have never heard, and it both bewilders and enchants me. You are the fleeting recollection of my dreams: fading, fading, as I scramble to imprint it into memory.  

You are the only thing I crave, the sole want of my life.

So take my hand, and I promise you art. You will be the canvas of my prose. I’ll dip my pen into the ink of your eyes, and engrave myself onto your heart. 

Let me take your breath away with the heat of my passion. I want to taste that infinite second between life and death before I breathe air back into you.

Let me plant a smatter of kisses within the most intimate chambers of your soul. I’ll watch them bruise and bloom with the flush of desire. 

Let me stop your heartbeat with a flick of my hand and hold- waiting a moment too long- before blood whooshes back into your aching veins.

Let me squeeze my fingers around your throat, and gaze into your eyes as their lustre fades. The light that you once clasped would leak out from you, and gush into me. 

I’ll press a single finger to the kaleidoscope of your world and watch the delicate glass crack, a spiderweb of a fissure making its way across your life.

I’ll watch your world slowly crumble, tremors advancing inwards, until there is nothing left. But you. 

You are clasped in the palm of my hand; I am the only air you can breathe, the only stimulus for your heartbeat. 

I am the only light in your eyes, the only voice that will soothe your cries. 

My blood mingling with yours, we are one flesh, one world. Mi casa es tu casa. And what is yours is mine also. 

You are stripped away, of everything that once shielded you.

No light.

No colour.

Only You.

Bare.


Photo by Jilbert Ebrahimi on Unsplash

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165 thoughts on “Bare”

    1. If you like, I was thinking of linking to your blog in my new Solidarity Blogger Award so new readers could visit it. Would you like your blog to get mentioned so more people are made aware of it?

      Liked by 2 people

  1. Every word, every single sentence and phrase has left a mark. You are a brilliant writer. It is a very raw and a very superbly written piece. You are so good. Its such a descriptive writing. Every line leaves an impact. You cant stop reading it!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Hello Natalie,

    I can’t find words for this. Life can be stripped down before it is renewed. People and elements blur into this piece.

    Thanks,

    Gary

    On Sat, Dec 8, 2018 at 12:29 AM The Midnight Ember wrote:

    > Natalie Swift posted: ” Night falls and the stars rise. The warm dusk > fades into dark, a single seamless brushstroke. The air is chilly and crisp > now, just a hint of soft caramel wafting through. In my mind, you are > standing in the centre of the chaos, though perhaps tha” >

    Liked by 2 people

  3. The development of the theme, via imagery here – from lushly evocative (I thought of the Song of Songs) to the darkening of that love to a murderous obsession – made this poem a stand out for me. It follows the logic of an all-encompassing love to arrive at its dark&troubling heart. Such love is always about possession and about the self’s right to love, advanced here as the speaker’s ability to speak of love with such arresting imagery, depth, and passion. The love seems true and beautiful – until it isn’t – until the speaker has her hands around the throat of her beloved. Like Cathy in Kate Bush’s song based on the novel Wuthering Heights. She wants to grab her beloved’s soul away. Nice. Very nice.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Strangely fulfilling, almost chilling, to hear your thoughts being spoken by someone else. Like an odd sense of deja-vu, almost. I could have sworn that this was the exact thought that ran through my head when I wrote the piece.

      Moments like these are what make all those hours of tearing your hair out over that one sentence that just won’t come out worth it. Thank you.

      Like

  4. It’s been a while since my inactive state. I have a question for you whom I might considered a veteran blogger. Do you have any tip on how to get more comments or feedbacks on a blog website instead of getting more Likes?

    Like

  5. Reblogged this on Nuggets and commented:
    Picture walking in a desolate place, suddenly you see something sparkling so radiantly that you run to it, and you discover it’s a gold nugget, from this moment you know you’ve discovered real treasure. That’s exactly what happened to me upon reading this writing.

    Liked by 1 person

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