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Literature Text
1
Church spire, stretching,
weds the moon.
2
Slate sky
and a heavy heat;
collapsing.
3
Embroidered stars—
celestial needlework.
4
Fairy wrens:
steeds of elven knights,
armoured all in blue.
5
Raindrops—
wet wings,
startled honeybee.
6
Huntsman
upon orange glass:
a specimen, fossilised
in amber.
7
Scarred grape,
veined in gold—
kintsugi.
8
White blossoms,
fallen like snowdrops.
9
Eagle in flight,
great wings cradling
the half-moon.
10
Pastel sun,
peeking from a soft,
smoky grey duvet.
11
The world settles;
the heavens awaken—
storm.
12
Black swans:
two arrows in tandem.
13
Mirror-verse—
sunset’s reflection,
river-bound.
14
The yellow of an
old book:
crinkled paper moon.
15
Tangled in old web—
a spider, noosed.
16
Rough brushstrokes
of a smudged landscape:
Impressionism.
17
Giant’s treasure:
pot of molten gold
spilled
along the treetops.
18
Raindrops
like gemstones,
flinging light.
Church spire, stretching,
weds the moon.
2
Slate sky
and a heavy heat;
collapsing.
3
Embroidered stars—
celestial needlework.
4
Fairy wrens:
steeds of elven knights,
armoured all in blue.
5
Raindrops—
wet wings,
startled honeybee.
6
Huntsman
upon orange glass:
a specimen, fossilised
in amber.
7
Scarred grape,
veined in gold—
kintsugi.
8
White blossoms,
fallen like snowdrops.
9
Eagle in flight,
great wings cradling
the half-moon.
10
Pastel sun,
peeking from a soft,
smoky grey duvet.
11
The world settles;
the heavens awaken—
storm.
12
Black swans:
two arrows in tandem.
13
Mirror-verse—
sunset’s reflection,
river-bound.
14
The yellow of an
old book:
crinkled paper moon.
15
Tangled in old web—
a spider, noosed.
16
Rough brushstrokes
of a smudged landscape:
Impressionism.
17
Giant’s treasure:
pot of molten gold
spilled
along the treetops.
18
Raindrops
like gemstones,
flinging light.
Literature
Inchoate
A billowing mouth, flowering
like a fist;
daughter-child,
crimson cheeked &
sparrow boned—
I keep your heart in my p(s)alms.
Literature
introspect
do you remember the rainy evening
when you showed me the architecture
of your heart?
columns of dead languages
and old money, ivy strangling
the crumbling stone:
quelle allure!
I had quite despaired
of ever seeing such a place, but you
forced open the wrought-iron gates
and allowed me to take over—
modernity manifest
in my hesitating touch.
I crept over the courtyards
like some brilliant, beautiful
bed of weeds.
Literature
Romancing the Romantic
apple wood in the hearth
he trails soft fingers
down my ribs
as i read poetry
clothed in nothing but firelight
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Comments38
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lovely lovely stuff~