Chaste Moon ~ Part one: Lost between the intricate mesh

Cream-colored, the sky sheds remnants of what the moon endured
let the clouds cry
their tears, a boon for the fiery ground below—
the breath of the green hills slowed one night
as trees with falling leaves escape from distaste,
what have they done to us?
It crushes into soft red lips, devouring what is left of piety
how we start is only part of what we eventually do—
the daffodils witness rhetorical lies.
I listen to whispers of coming decades,
watch as pollen drips into the abyss of death’s dark dreams;
what have they done to us?



Photo credits: Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Fragrant, ground,
listen, cream, escape 💝

Posted for the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

For the contemplation of Poets

It burns the tongue, tapping into the senses
ever so slightly
while I lie under the sheets contemplating nature—
there is poetry in dirt,
in salt existing on the wind,
in grayness of the morning and in red peppers.

His lips,
the centre point of all sweetness trace what is mine
and what isn’t,
and I wonder if the moon competes with the sun
just like I compete with him?
Not even milk soothes the sensation that pierces—
the sky in turn sings a little louder.

As subtlest of kisses launched from fingers,
if you asked me why I prefer fruit that hurts
I wouldn’t be able to answer—
I am half conscious,
my thoughts straying to him in deep mauve
of twilight;
it burns the tongue, yes
but wouldn’t you rather feel this way
than have a feeling of dust
rise in your throat?
is what my soul bleeds when one isn’t looking.


Photo credits: Antonio Mora’s Surreal Portraits, Pinterest

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Storm Moon ~ Part Two: When at long last Eurydice woke

There are no roses in the underworld
nor gravel
to keep one from falling
only shadows–
it twists and turns and at once catches fire,
the brooding sun
watching from the other end,
how can it be that I am no longer afraid?
Is it because nothing has happened,
soft lips
untouched, unopened like pink fruit,
its tiny black seeds of explosion
with a flavor
so sensual so as to tempt
even Hades
in the realm of the dead; from his fingers
I am hail,

concentric layers of silver, seething ice
from where nothingness remains–
whatever hope that once existed now serves
to be faint;

I watch as you pace round and
round the colonnade

eating dust;
you cover our briefness together in song.



Photo credits: Henrik Aa. Uldalen Art, Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Underworld, brooding,
silver, seethe,
colonnade, faint. 💝

Posted on the Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

His eyes are ocean incarnate-a tribute

Holding myself as I bend towards sleep, I allow
course of fire to consume me–
as tangerine, pink pepper,
lily, cedar-wood, rose and musk notes surround me,
his eyes are ocean incarnate
piercing ever so slowly into my heart.
the night with heightened breath calls out,
perhaps it too is aware of longing–
I cannot flirt with the earth’s rain,
my lips stained and made caustic with what was
and had been.
If you must know I prostrate in reverence twice,
once on the bare floor before God
and another
when I lay my soul in submission to your being,
I adore beauty in all things– in art, in music
and literature

so, it’s no surprise that I adore you.
Gaze not upon me so closely, for fear that heart
might stop beating,
it might bleed out odes unwritten—
wanting you has become as involuntary as breathing;
like a budding tree fluid
pouring desire in every leaf: how did we come to this?



Photo credits: The Kiss by Thomas Saliot, Pinterest

A tribute to Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan and
his unforgettable
songs that touch hearts worldwide ❤️

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

February: The wild, the sweet and the unpredictable

The thought of rose wine comes to me
when I touch your lips
and I fall away deep into the natural laws
of the cosmos—
the best love is the one which is unexpected,
long nights of lost sleep
and deep conversation,
I watch as expression changes from bewilderment
to delight
in the garden of your mind;
your eyes
a form of provocation which seek the stories in mine.

Have I told you just how baffling it seems?
To adore one with all their flaws
and beauty
the way you seem to accomplish with me—
I am taken by the curve of forgetting the storms
of past decades
which laugh at the approach of midnight.

If innervation is first
then let me taste fully the extent of your kiss—
causing me to make brave wishes;
I’d do anything to make your heart sing,
guide your hands
irresistibly with my voice.
You are the sky that cradles my poetic being,
my sun,
my venus and my moon; let me hold you
I am on the edge of something that goes beyond words.


Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United