Remember back when you were a rock star
and I was a hippie angel?
How comfortable we were with our
heart and souls bared.
Do you remember now that you are so far
away that night in Eden when you came to me
and I came to you and the rest of the world
We held on to one another, made love and cried
decided never to speak of how every time
the lights went out you rushed to me,
so tender, coming and going.
Young and in love, we named that month Sextember,
yes, it still matters to me.
Do you remember our anguished goodbye?
Neither do I.
Resa and the Rock Star
Dedicated to Resa @ https://artgowns.com
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.
brilliant bird your
fire still in my hair.
Gravity has pressed me to you,
Hold me in your cupped hands.
The wind has blown away all sanity
And we have become the feathered
tongues of muted birds
The hollow bones of faithless lovers.
Burnished anger waits silently
never be to be spoken
But sails away on
the wings of migrating birds.
When dawn became morning, with the graceful arms of a ballerina, she tossed bread crumbs to finches and towhees gathered at the feeder. Sadly the flowers lay drenched in nights raindrops, puddled petals in a potpourri garden.
Wiping dried wax from the bedside table she replaced melting candles that held too many memories. Her silk scarves were cached in a pale blue armoire but for the rose hued tossed across the night lamp.
The hours pass slowly in a room blushed with moon-glow, the faint scent of sandalwood and a hint of dried lavender.
Mark Spain Art
In the moonlight I am a shimmer
of anemone flowers washed ashore
on cascades of foamy waves across
the flawless imprint of my love.
Gossamer beams spill down our throats
where there is no need for words below
a sky filled with muted stars driven to be near us.
Tonight we are the sigh of winds
over high cliffs echoing from walls
of murky caves and back again.
Tethered to nothing we are
free of burden, golden sand enticing the
current through ancient reefs,
released forever back to the sea.
Coral Reef from Google
Your eyes are Himalayan blue,
they mutate from sparkling stars to the silver
of a cold planet.
With indifference you defeat me
until I am nothing more than an empty
vessel sailed away to write love letters
on the wings of distant angels.
When your nights are long
you may find me in the brush of a
homeless Chartreux winding about your
feet or in the sunflower eyes of a girl
Vincent Van Gogh
As the fog of dream falls
I feel you.
The touch of your skin
calls to the savage in me,
ignites a raging flame.
Here we are still lovers
where I devour you
with the weak bites of
a starving animal,
never completely consuming
image from Art Express…Steve Hanks Art.
I wait expectantly for your
your thoughts to wing theiir of adventure
to the flicker of my heart.
My own disassembles like folds of
Silken threads webbed in purple indigo. where our names are webbed
Our words are rare as rice paper origami of rice paper
Sewn with slivers of sun drenched feathers that echo
Out to sea and back in again until the end for we are more than an
epoch of bones but the setting of a summer sunset
in your colors.
My blood is this crimson rushing through your veins when we make love
As though we are the only lovers the breathing air where we make love
as though we are the only lovers,
as gentle or fierce as the press of your
thighs on mine.