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

His lips are petal, are thirst

Only time will tell,
residue of longing, luscious, on the edge of lower lip
is truth,
is fallaciousness,
chained in curiosity or is merely an illusion
your lambent green eyes
a slight intake of breath
and before I could realize, I lost track of time.
Come, strip the night of indecision,
sometimes we just let it slip away
this love of mine is as old as the hills, cutting deep
into poetry that sings,
I suppose it makes sense
I see your name and say it softly out loud;
silvered, like the moon
even the smallest traces of you make me radiate,
make me glow,
you say

I leave lipstick notes without a care in the world
only time will tell.



Photo credits: Jarek Puczel Painting, Pinterest

A potpourri of words from Skylover Wordlist:  Lambent,
illusion, chained, curiosity, strip, silver. 💝

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

What more can be said, that

Poem inspired by the title of Rumi’s poetic masterpiece, “What was told, that.”

What more can be said that raises a faint blush on,
embers of wanting
smolder marmalade-like over a pair of brown eyes,
copacetic these clouds murmur
not a thought, not a kiss, nor a glance is forgotten–
your beauty akin to a cream rosebud,
to winter sunshine illuminating the trees.

What more can be said that molds the heart
with such strangeness,
the crescent itself seethes when I utter your name
and I, seeing through pretense smile
I plead pardon for having my breath perfumed—

Darkly whispering the underworld beckons,
I gaze upon the flowers pinned between rocks
sprouting deep purple,
the violet
being one to address blood consciousness.
To repudiate living darkness that exists in one’s soul
would be ideal,
I thought to myself as I rise from dreams unreal;
I bury my face in the wild storm of your being.

There is faith in the fog, I cannot see the ground
and yet
I tread further into the abyss of the unknown,
let lips decide the distance between us
love, I have witnessed many a February cold—
weave foolishness into my heart;

it’s perfectly easy, every atom
belonging to me as good
belongs to you;
what more can be said that raises a faint blush on.



Photo credits: Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Underworld, crescent, seethe, faint,
sunshine, foolish 💝

Posted on Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

& Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub