when you go

When you leave I become

the sea gull begging salt from

from the briny air.

My veins are a winding tunnel

Of deep purple sea.

I channel you in the night owl’s

perpetual call  that  awakens the

Subconscious to the feel of

your phantom hand at the angle of my
hips.

At dawn your shirt hangs from a

Closet door in the buttery sunlight

and I become so small I could slip

inside the lining of your chest

sheltered by your warm skin where I

long to be.

 

 

art by Anuraag

 

 

Cave People

Tonight in my nest of stones I have not slept.
Through the walls my neighbors fight over how
best to spend their time as it silently slips through
the space between their fingers.
As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be
present for the hours left.
When the  dawn  climbs above the ocean I can see
that deep amber on the shore,  the color of
 my lover’s eyes when  aroused,  waning to hues
of   gold that glint  in my half empty glass.
In the unkempt night I rearrange decaying books
wander halls of memories pillaging my mind.

 

 

Trinette Reed photography

the lethal dose

There are days  shadows course
through me like a breeze,
pressing deep into my life line and
the air is the scent of a stale satin pillow
where I refuse to lay my head.
I don’t fear  those intrepid ghosts,
I embrace and release them with
failed  gravity or the force that once
held the cupped hand of my lover.
The sky was alive then with every shade of
blue and the clarity of Windsor eyes
where I longed for space.
Desire is a stranger,  a lethal dose,
 encountered beneath a sacred mound.
art by Laura Makabresku

Wolves

In that state between sleep and wake

traversing birth and mortality

there is the faintest hint of earthy candles,

macabre dreams interrupted by sighs

the soft strophe of sonnets and the odd

sensation of strung pearls  falling like

tiny moons through my open palm.

At the boundaries I find you

not your spirit or  rose tinged snow,

but flesh and bone and sinew.

Now  I am sleeping less

roused by the wing beats of boreal Owls

circling   ancient Cypress,

their knife edge talons entwining knotty branches.

When sleep intrudes fitful winds  erupt

feathery curtains, vibrate my hemispheres.

A  swift breeze lifts  me over  the

valley to a  moonlit hillside of sweet lea

where a silver wolf lies down  beside me.

He is the scent of golden meadows and

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

 

Pinterest

 

tempting fate

We thirst at the pool of desire,
our reflections distorted in the liquid mirror.
Filled with apprehension we drink deeply,
soothed by the urging of an ancient sigh.
Our bones rapt in wonder, an emerald serpent binds us,
winds a savage path deep into the shadows.
He breathes his breath into us, regurgitates the ashes.
Curls around the ruins, a benevolent green shoot.

Eve in the Garden

art by Fontaine

Blasphemy

Browsing  through souvenirs

I am reminded of you.

The door to the past swings open

releasing a sleek eel of memories

where I am nothing  or at best

some trembling leaf lost on a summer breeze.

Do you think of me?

See me in constellations pressed against the sky,

hear me in the surge of tide, slick sealions riding white horses?

I would seek comfort in the moon but I am so  trivial

and he is taken by  the stars.

In dreams my tongue is a crimson  snake

flicking the skin of your thigh,

curling around the catch in my throat.

It is  god and has named me regret.

I close our door  with pried fingers,

I’ve given up on prayer hands.

 

 

 Dove Mouth

Art by Rita Hardy

washed away

Firelight dances through the bistro,
We lean in close and when our eyes meet
the rain storm streaming down the
stain glass window reclaims us.
Swept away through sea caves,
caverns and seal black maelstroms
we ride the darkness,
diving deep we take what we need.
Thieves, we steal only from ourselves.

Negril

In the apathetic silence between each wave every sound expands, the stars come alive and the wind echoes as soft as a poem. You, laid back in the moon light, nude but for my shadow across your shoulders. In your hand a sweating glass of rum, its swirl keeps perfect time to the far off sound of Coltrane. I need to look away from your gun powder blue eyes, the moon’s lethal shot, before my eyes betray the flight of a thousand fluttering moths in my belly. So I breath the circlets of smoke from your cigarette and the sweet scent of willing hostages naked and bare boned. Our hearts, fragile as fireflies, escape in to the madness of our minds where all we need to do is live.

rainbow beach

Liliana Gigovic

an unwinding

No longer a subtle nuance,
crumbling ashes expose me to the outside world and within.
Only fire will make me whole, where is the flame that burned like the sun?
The amorous teeth aching to bite
a wounded tongue.
Conflicted eyes watch for you,
cast a sword of roses that is
sweet but with thorns and all the
hurt a life can hold.
Still I follow you into our desperate gardens,
give you my drop of blood.

Twitter1

Gaudi

soft as pollen

Insects large and small flit

through the  lemony filter of dense canopies.

In hushed whispers we point to a clearing

where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.

Soft as  cotton clouds brush the crowns of ancient trees,

below a  hanging mist  clings to  blonde foothills.

You pluck a  marigold to tuck behind my ear,

a golden hand print left on my thigh.

I wind a garland of fern  around your wrist,

close enough to run my fingers through your hair,

carry your scent back home with me.

 

 

Deborah Gryka  “Turtle Woods”

 

I apologize ! I found that the comment section was turned off on this.  I have gremlins.