[x]

LointainListen carefully, for I am plucking spider-web harp strings in the light of your glistening, rain-sodden breath. There is such beauty in this city, and in symphony, you see—so keep rhythm with these skeleton trees dancing on street sides, winter branches quivering. Can you hear the beat of your heart? Its cadence is being matched by that of the shadows, ephemeral figures waltzing hand-in-hand across cobblestones and twirling at the very cusp of the lamp posts' soft glow...

Sway now, my dearest, to the allure of this chorus in the night; to the echoing sound of this moonlit sona

HazeCatching sunlight;
golden silhouettes
dripping

with the
taste of summer
lingering,

heavy upon lips.

AThere is birdsong and
sun-drenched long limbs,
sprawled across India green;

wet hair haloes and
a restless route scrawled
up arms and over hands.

There are blueberry smiles,
feet upon dashboards,
and city-light fireflies...

(And,
then there is you.
Always, always you.)

Sky EyesDesert hands tell tales
of a hundred arid summers, but
you are no longer as cloudless as they

(there is a storm
creeping through blue, blue veins).

But tell the sky to keep her sorrow,
that grey cascade blurring against
eyelids and horizons;

and suppress her misbegotten
droplets, seeping into the sodden
ground underfoot—

for there is still sun in your sky eyes.

Of BlissKissing daffodils sway,
serenaded by the waver of
gossamer wings;

faces blushing bright
as the sunlight
slips away.

O FevraleWitching hour, welcomed with a sigh,
bare-breasted and ink-stained in the night.
Half in love in this half-life half-light;

pisat O Fevrale navsnryd, dreaming
of the gods. Wanderer, today I died and
died again, and whispered prayers

to clasped hands… until the nestled
droplets fell away like sunrays at dusk;
and when moonrise came, I sang again.

SimbelmyneThere is silence here, upon
stale skull tombs—
these everminds are stilling...

(And yet their tragedies
shall endure in the pallor of the
flowers in your hands.)

Whistle+++
i am the wicked edge of ricochet,
the asphyxiation of dust
in a hummingbird's bones. skeleton,
i am silver, grass torn hollow
by a child's breath. corkscrewing,
my veins etch true reflections
on time's skin:

a cardigan crumpled
like a child. Blue
and torn in half.
---

Stay Dreamingyou are pale in the half-light;

all the fire you carry with you in the waking world is doused in the sweetness of your hair across the pillow & your frame insinuating itself in the sheets, in pockets of weight & pools of shadow that say "i am a body", "i am a girl"

(vulnerable yet terrifying)

& in life you are larger than you seem, thunder & lightning inside colored glass. you are cruel-mouthed but soft-eyed, & brittle queen (you would rather break than bend for me), you are all the lovelier for your frail-boned pride.

it is strange how much i see of you when you are not looking back, how i feel as though it is only in moments like these

now i'm just being whimsical.
i think there is a lonely boy
with constellation thoughts
and a sailor's wandering desire
for every lonely girl out there
with a telescope by her bedroom window
and dreams grander than
a creaking ocean voyager.

and for each pair,
a table in the corner of some tiny cafe
on the edge of a busy street
in a sunset drenched city,
with two chairs directly opposite
and an unspoken question lingering
in the coffee scented air,
waiting to be asked
and answered in turn.

"can i sit here?"

Take me homeyou live in me,

cancerous white noise,
high tide of danger.
you consume me,

oceanic burial ground,
reddened memories,
love-making stranger.

072i ached enough that day
to salt the atlantic ocean
three time over

white noise.sometimes i turn off the greasy yellow lights and run the water lava hot.
the quiet porcelain is an untouched coffin
familiar as the look in your eyes.
i can hear my heart beat in my ears
and i stare at the ceiling until it darkens and blurs at the edges.
my body is heavy as lead
i cannot remember the weight of movement.
sometimes the closest i can get is the suicide between each breath
and the apology unspoken on the inhale.
my skin is a ladder i keep climbing,
i can see through the rungs to the fat cells that weigh down my bones.
sometimes,
my hand becomes his when it creeps uninvited over the landscape of my body
and across the staircase of my ribs.
i can't erase the feeling of his body pressed like a book
over my flower.
my head is white noise that bleeds red,
but i'm tired of all the blood.
tired of all the memories like channels
i keep flicking past.
sometimes i wonder if i cut enough slack in my skin,
&

ink bloodi am a thing of words and ink blood

and you, the proverbial book thief
albeit with loving intentions.

you bend my spine and gently crack me open
to the sunlight without asking.

for who gave you permission
to walk your fingers along every tale interwoven
through my vertebrae?
to have your eyes
browse each piece of my nonfiction,
where the day and night have kissed my brow
and ran me through in equal measure,
as if i were truly an inanimate thing
of pages and dust?

under your scrutiny i am no longer a volume
left face-down and dusty beside the armchair
by the window,
unloved by hands and falling prey
to the patient gluttony

ApsaraFind me sunken into the
lotus field, bathing skin silvergreen,
waist-deep and pink

in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for rain,

for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,

a sarong of heat.

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ApsaraFind me sunken into the
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waist-deep and pink

in sunset, and we will cry:
for three-faced elephants,
for rain,

for the dancers threading grace
between their fingertips—
until I dress in the heaviness,

a sarong of heat.

HysteriaMoon sliver arms raised
to the eventide sky,
hysteria dripping like wine

like a prayer, slipping —
hallowed lips no longer, and

the weight of every loss
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and the curtains billow
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to better times

(ein
zwei
drei)

She becomes the rain,
and breaks her own heart as
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drips
right through us.

SeashineSacred skin
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an imprint on salted lungs
an echo

of aching, of
a moonlit yearning upon the
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Submitted: August 26, 2012
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Fable

by *Concora, Aug 26, 2012, 2:41:54 PM
Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

Moon cloaks
fallen from
shoulders,

(and you are)

left clad in only
the softest of
shadows.

Fableby *Concora

Literature / Poetry / Romantic / General / Free Verse

©2012-2013 *Concora

It's a dreaming night.

-

Featured:
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*Unpredictabloo Feb 19, 2013 Student General Artist

Once again, wonderful imagery! I like this one very much.

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*Concora Feb 20, 2013 Writer

Thank you once again!

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*hazeltown Jan 14, 2013 Hobbyist Writer

This is so intimate

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*Concora Jan 14, 2013 Writer

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=AzizrianDaoXrak Nov 23, 2012 Hobbyist Writer

This is a little note to let you know I've included this beautiful piece in a feature!

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Please consider taking a peak at the other pieces and faving the article to support the other artists. Thanks, and keep up the good work!

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*Concora Dec 21, 2012 Writer

Thank you once again.

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~Nightfang013 Sep 22, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

Thank you

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*Concora Sep 22, 2012 Writer

Whatever for?

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Mood: Neutral

~Nightfang013 Sep 23, 2012 Hobbyist Artist

The like...

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*Concora Sep 24, 2012 Writer

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