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Literature Text
Witching 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.
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.
Literature
under
this delirium is like
a kiss: momentary,
placid,
and perhaps insidious.
dreams stretch their watery
fingers, listless
and profound, over these
reflections—
they twine in my hair,
thread between my fingers
(like flowers, or maybe hope),
and drench my skirts
with lost longing.
look, pre-Raphaelites, Elizabethans,
Victorian women of all ages:
this is what comes
of daring to desire.
stars burst before my eyes,
flowers sprout
in my lungs,
the last ray of light has gone
and my world is black
and blue.
I am gorged and oversoaked
with sleep.
Literature
.
i avoid the eyes of people when i'm nervous
stare at spaces in between their eyelids
and let the conversation fade
or dissolve.
i don't know where to let my eyes rest
when you appear
in my head
around my bones
there's nowhere to look
except through you
Literature
Reddist
Before you, there were women
with full breasts,
breasts with perk tips and beneath them:
hips wide as my hand spread,
but never love.
Athenas before you,
my eyes only followed the apples;
and then, suddenly:
A wild brook unleashed
and I never knew I was a basin
meant to be filled.
A woman sewn
from the smile of Coyote,
from the same hands that bent time
and created life for a laugh-
Apples became
the sweetest fruit; be my reddist-
I will love you madder
than a hatter and brasher than a miner.
Wilder for a gypsy.
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Thank you so much!
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Comments45
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your own poetics have done sweet justice to that little borrowed bit. such live, breathing longing in this.