Tag Archives: Desire

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


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.



Favorite gleams of memories,

Puzzle games of stone,

Quietude laced with dying fireflies,


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:

Felix novus annus +Fragment 3.9372

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.


Fragment 3.9372:

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.

Inamorato Tarriance


Sometimes I believe I should apologize

For all those random incantations of me.

But I am reminded each

Are honestly just another rendition of a complex being.

Each death,

Simply, vibrantly vivid color she needed.

A new woman,

Wearing her newly clipped hair

And becoming whatever she imagined

She could be.

Her mosaic of needs

Hiding so very deep,

Waiting for that perfect key-

Manifested from

All the souls she meets.

Each new birth

Another happy moment

Collected for posterity.

Her prosterity, individually.

The blessing

And the curse-

Until she meets her harmonic paramour again

In this timeline of history.

That man so profound,

And dynamic,



And unrestrained-

He keeps up with all

Of her foretold destinies.

For now,

There are night’s sweetest dreams

Reminding her of the twilight songs

They used to sing.


Her Colorful Sea: KlarEm

The  Phantom From The Beginning: The Veils – Lavinia