The Fire Within

the wind greets plumeria and skin just the same
its currents
piercing through with a roughness that cannot be explained
no don’t touch me,
I ache not for smudges nor tastes
that linger on
your hands are incompatible with the fire within.

There is a sanguine wonder as lavender melts
into grey
beneath the moonlight, yet my mind is a busy street
as silence
is replaced by warning bells
your eyes are thunderstorm when all I require
is calm.

I find that centuries stutter at imprecise units
of measurement,
at mere movement in the shadows,
at longitude
and latitude lines that form a grid on the Earth
tell me
how do you expect me to let you unearth me
with delight.

I am primrose whose color is used to weave dreams from,
the older I become
the more aware I am of what’s forbidden
as though plucking a strawberry in the light of the morning
before it has turned scarlet,
this insatiate dance of your lips is more than I can handle.

April is a landscape shuddering at the thought of stifling
its song
this isn’t something that I am in favour of
I am the afternoon sun, smouldering yellow
and untried
I am not the type to be teasingly opened.


Photo credits: Pinterest

Word List: Inseparable, smudge, centuries, shadows, primrose, forbidden.

Posted for Poetics @ dVerse Poets pub

And Posted for Get Listed @ Real Toads

Posted on Poetry Pantry @ Poets United

The Other Side Of Twilight

though brittle and dried
I wonder
what stripped them of tangerine hue
the evening takes my name
and sighs
as a thousand epiphanies run through my mind
the world’s substituted “trolling with lust,”
sunflowers had a hard time resisting temptation too.


Photo credits:

Posted for “Quadrille #76” @ dVerse Pub

& on the Tuesday Platform @ Real Toads