Let my hair rest on your shoulders,
As my skin touches yours,Like fingers fascinated by frosted windows, Etching stories of my desire as a vellum of the gambler’s debts to the men of numbers.
Whispering of all the blue moon’s since the beginning of this Moirai reckoning dipped in each eventide.
Feel the opacity of my hunger for only you in my throaty psalms of names between the desperation of frenzied taste and scented famine.
Empty all the final heedless murmurs just before bodies leave rosettes of love’s liquification on the edges of Aurora’s balmy infancy of beyond any and all of this.
This world is and isn’t ours to hold on to anymore.
Words: M(e.)Twilight Temple Tresses: a6a7
Songs of Seamlessly Stitched Sanity: https://youtu.be/Sn3-1kvv6u4
Paint a gypsy caravan on a new canvas. Imbue it with scarlets, ocher, burnt ashes, tangerine, tungsten and copper before you’re done.
A small space that doesn’t take much time cleaning yet expands into a worldwide way home because it’s not the earth any of us belong to just yet.
Write upon fond illusions, scrawling without fail and fear until the difference between the two lines meet like sockets and carpets that electrify everything near.
Facets of button boxes lining gothic metal bodies and other pieces of history that matters only to the roads and dive diners we discover.
Give life to living by making the storyline of hellos that turn into phone conversations about original prints and favorites with strangers almost bypassed in small square spaces.
Unwind the past into strings sparkling with possibilities as scarves soothe the skin of your lips and longing until days explode into riots of verisimilitude gilt of gold and vermillion breathes between tired days of winter and everything in the yonder.
Then knock gently three times before one enters because we must be different with the painters at rest. You have to care for the brushes and oils and liniment and colors to get them to bloom like oceans of wildflowers.
Wrap me completely into your violent shiver.
Stick your fervor to my ribs,
Until the tar of your cinders
Swallows me whole.
The moans stuck behind the bone when it collides into the loss of chastity.
Dangle this body from the stars you have collected,
Until a silver lining coaxes death from the gallows of time to share a dream,
a drive to all the infinity of the ochre light that keeps touching the clouds while we sleep.
Then we’ll know,
The languages of tomorrow and all the ways sunrises dance gleefully into existence when no one’s looking.
My charred wings,
Always embarrassed me,
As though falling
Wasn’t the choice I’d always pick
It’s the decent,
That thrills me,
As though us falling to endings
Were some sort of tragedy.
And it’s how we were born to be.
So my earthen cherub with
Golden curls of forbidden longing
Skyline eyes of desirous mornings
It’s always been you.
Our days written,
Running amuck with
This yearning heathen,
As though the eons before
Before highway miles
With roaring scramblers careening
Meant as much as
The skyline of mortal intervening
Where our lips met,
Now there is nothing left but
Our temples of stars sublime
Conceleaing only our wild fires
Perched to anhilate everything on the horizon.
Kindling killer baby: Corvinerum
Destiny’s deconstruction sounds:
Let’s ride the waves,
Because passion is all we got
Left after all the vanity
Leaves our young daydreams,
at the alter of new beginnings.
While we make tangled webs,
Out of our candied apple nocturnal entities
Like the worshipers of Apollo,
Riding a chariot into Earth’s home star.
May you remember all the desires that left you tired, sleepless, and blue in the current winter in the newly coming year. May you also remember that passion that always drives that young being we all seem to carry and accomplish all those dreams instead of societal resolutions spoken in vain.
And this is my very special reminder to not always do what’s best for you.
I know it’s what I need to hear too.
And oh darling, how sublimely trouble -with your handsome smile that lets slip such hedonistically cabalistic tendencies.
If my lips were to touch yours, maybe I could drain just a bit of you before I feed you too …
Before we both are web wrapped in savage ecstasy of warm skin and bewitchingly intrusive hands.
With a sultry smirk, I whisper a promise -to try not to capture you unless, of course, it’s what you want me to do.
*Note: This lovely is french Canadian. Her work in french is also something to behold.
Your words always rouse such fervor that I remember how to get to that existential mountain on the horizon that is always evading me in this everyday normality . I want you to say them as you place a kiss in between each so I will never forget them my felicitous abettor.
from the creator of Free Verse Revolution
Only We Can Change our Life, No one Else Do It For Us!!
Reflections of the Sensual and Seductive
Exploring open roads without breaking the bank
How I escaped from my cocoon while running a business and raising two kids without completely losing my mind
Emotional musings- firstname.lastname@example.org
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