New artsy dining tables,
blue vintage-ish sleeper sofa,
An apartment on the river,
A new star delivery,
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? 🙂
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
Present to myself goal in 18 months as I sing the end of the dead breed and learn to be a sinner saint.
Wicked red forty eight special fits baby. Watch the dust, please.
Black velvet hair and first time banshee bangs sound divine in the mean time.
Don’t think I’ll recognize myself either. Good thing,
I’m going to outrun the bounty you think you still have on me.
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.
Visions of a comfortable hut with smoke billowed like clouds.
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.
Timberlands Tim and his star stride: David Schermann
Creed of the forest fires and the people that set them:
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.
This years best season,
Ending on such sour notes,
Giving way to good harvest,
With a lesson-remote.
Curled lying lips corrupt,
Never makes for loving so much.
Faded memory still passing like thinning fog
Only at the bottom of mountain tops on Tuesdays-
Leaving room for another’s endless hope I collect
Like the sun’s rays beaming trust.
So sorry for that luck,
I’m bundling up:
Piled on the porch untouched.
And I am returning to sender,
A forked tongue and angled tail benders.
All the stagnant,
Three soul mates a year sort of romantic love.
Along with the hateful glances of a barely mortal man’s drunken red anger
Based somewhere in the what I have’s-
What you should entail,
And the what happened not’s.
I leave it world’s away
Trying to control so much while-
Fabricating nebulous notions
for ornamental pickles.
Dangling for the sake of art’s sake.
Emotional courtship only,
Floating the bragard’s specter boat-
Like it’s a hold you up crutch keeping hope afloat.
So it’s my serendipitous road from here on out,
To the golden ocher leaves of real adoration
And undying crimson devotional lust-
Hidden In his soft kiss and rough handed soul
Plucking strings like Santana,
Healing the troves of
And just his burning blue eyes,
Making diamonds out of my scars,
Between the planks on ocean pier moonlit walks.
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.
I want to be rich. Rich in love, rich in health, rich in laughter, rich in adventure and rich in knowledge. You?
Learn to Live
Alternate realities, infinity, pragmatism, business and the esoteric - all in one.
Life Is Beautiful
It's all about you and me
We are talking about something we know nothing about.
embrace the impossible
"For your born writer, nothing is so healing as the realization that he has come upon the right word.” —Catherine Drinker Bowen
(...and some I have)
I’m an artist, an illustrator, a photographer, a tinker, a tailor, a mother, a spy