Category Archives: Passion

Fragment 40

Please.

Xoxo 💋

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Fragment Movement 4.2

Short notice,

New artsy dining tables,

blue vintage-ish sleeper sofa,

An apartment on the river,

A new star delivery,

Better rest,

My favorite parts of town,

And just so much more beautiful serenity twined serendipity.

Counting the dreams until settled.

I’m going everywhere it calls ❤

You coming? 🙂

Ruby, Rude Redemption

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

Fragments: Floating 1.0

Somehow,

I believe he holds all his favorite skylines in the recesses of his heart

A safe vibrant, little, large, brilliance given away by his laughter.

So, the clovers rise from beneath the cool earth.

I wait for the roses that grow from his sorrows, his doubts, his overthinking,

his words, his hold, his holy grins….him.

Egress Empire Epics

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.

Quartile Quarterly Physiology

Visions of a comfortable hut with smoke billowed like clouds.

Night visits,

Of a boy in red trying to facet a new kind of door that takes a certain type of dedication,

A intimate intricacy to open.

Sticks,

Leaves,

Favorite gleams of memories,

Puzzle games of stone,

Quietude laced with dying fireflies,

And

Dreams interlocking with scenes imbibed among sweet treat treasures.

Then the gaze I cannot turn around while I watch with lullaby heart beats that he sings along with but doesn’t feel like he once could.

A Nightsky, all about Formica swirls paying the dues while all I do is remain loyal and lost in the evening dew strewing around the world like this is the place I’d rather have lived with before a botched suicide or two.

Words: m(e)

Timberlands Tim and his star stride: David Schermann

Creed of the forest fires and the people that set them:

Fragment 22.5

Wrap me completely into your violent shiver.

Stick your fervor to my ribs,

Until the tar of your cinders

Swallows me whole.

Bury deeper,

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,

drink,

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.