Hi, My name is Micah Park Biffle, I am the author of ' A Man's Traveled Heart,' I am a Veteran who found in understanding of my self through writing. I consider myself an architect of the imagination. Here you will see my creations come to life. My short stories, poems, my thoughts, and a little touch of my life. (I AM SLOWLY MOVING OF BLOGGER< FOR NEW STORIES PLEASE CLICK THE "MEDIUM" LINK TO THE LEFT)
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A Fairy-tale Lasting
A Fairy-tale Lasting
Her lips upon mine, our sultry passion leading me to the catacombs of bliss. Falling through the tendrils of this moment envelops my once shivering bones in a clothed warmth. Heating my core like coals beneath timber.
My soul flourishing to the wild crisp embrace of our skin. Our bodies entwined in a succulence of love. A raging affection seeps from our ribs like the sun dripping from the moon. We collide with such fervor that the stars become jealous.
Their white bodies boil in tones of crimson. The planets weep as they are left desolate to the blankness of space. They are cold, frigid, to the empty void as we align ourselves with such devotion.
We beam with brightness upon the darkest of tombs in the graves of our hearts. Our once dry grooves of existence now flood with phenomenal brilliance. We bloom like wild flowers at upom highest peak breaching through the haze of clouds.
Our fingers lacing like vines, our hearts bursting like fruits crushed beneath our jaws. We ooze with desire, the fondness to make our affection last. To string ourselves from constellation to constellation. Till we are weaved through each galaxy like veins through our flesh.
I collapse beneath her with vulnerability as I present her my soul. Grasping her with firmness between my hands. Her cheeks warm, budding with the glow of a rose. Her breath whisking upon my neck as if summer be her lungs.
As she delights in the masculinity of my grip as I relish her gentle and romantic wonder. Tuning our hearts, our bodies to our obsessive intensity.
Our eyes glaze in a radiance of love. The moon voyeurs through our open chambers but we are shamed not of our connection. Our devotion of our hearts, we are companions, lovers of the forever. A fairy tale come true.
Our pages are written from the blood of our love. Our hearts will race with emotion of our love till we are but brittle bones decaying to the soils of earth. Even then we shall lay side by side in silence as our story rests in the etching our stones.
Let us never grow tired of our presence. Let us venture to wild places beyond our home. Let us be the reflection of what many seek. Let lust never be our want, but change be our path. Let us not speak only of our bodies but of the deeper.
The soul, the mind, the intelligence of both. Let us fall, to the ever deepening of our love.
"Let your umbrella unfold, dance beneath the rain when others won't shelter you with the echoes of love my dear." Her mother said as she kissed her upon the forehead.
Sophia looking up at her mother smiles as she holds her pink umbrella above her head. Her mother, raising up from the kiss takes Sophia by the hand and they begin to walk. Sophia, only five and her father off on a business trip, her mother becomes lonely.
And so they walk, they walk through evenings, mornings, dusk's and dawns. Watching the graceful colors of sunsets and sunrises. Sophia's mother teach's her to admire the colors before them. Not just the wonderful vibrant colors, but also the dull. The gloomy streaks of darkness.
For everything has a purpose in this world. From the thunder storms to clear skies. Sophia, holding her mother's hands as they walk through the rain looks and up and asks, "Mother, why do you cry? Do the colors of this clouded night …
A Pocket Flower
I breathe upon the cold morning glass as I look out into the open plains of the country. And with my finger I draw a heart splitting in two, it quickly fades. I look back out into the world and design a new one.
I let my senses roam wild as imagination rushes from my head like water. Flooding my view with bountiful ideas. I see titans clashing, gods fighting, I see mysteries lingering in the lonely mist. I see monsters creeping from the distant moons and music flow gently from the darkened woods.
I watch golden leaves fall as the sun begins to rise. The soft tone of frozen grass begins to sparkle. I see birds thrust from their nests and chirp to the vast outreaches of nature. I am overwhelmed by what I see, and I smile.
I breathe again upon the cold morning glass. But this time, I draw a single heart held together. I let it fade as the last, but this time I breathe upon the glass once more. I observe the heart I drew with much thought, much intrigue.
I found myself walking in the snow, my head aching with a sharp pain. I feel the back of my head, there is something crusted upon the rear of my skull. I dig my nail carefully into it. I can feel the crust collect beneath my nail like dirt.
As my feet trudge through the sixteen inches of snow I look to my nail and there in my nail is blood. Dried cells of my body. Upon seeing this I become confused with worry. I place my hand once again upon my bloodied skull and began to examine it.
I slide my index finger like the bristle of a broom, back and forth trying to see what wound had allowed such blood upon me. But after several seconds of feeling about, I find nothing. No scratches, no lacerations, nothing.
My worried confusion musters down to mere confusion. I rub my eyes as I am strangely held with a slight daze. As if I have been interrupted from a deep sleep. And the evening air is not helping my situation.
I am comfortably wrapped for a day trip, but the su…