Lips wet with mist, the breeze of a kiss,
water grass sweeping through diaphanous dreams.
The strains of a sonata stream,
rivers of veins filled with bloods wildness
a song blue playing with fire.
Tongues of lovers burn with allegory
celestial walls of silence.
Hear the firewood snap and hiss
the burning heat of need.
Has her awakening come to late?
Art by Liu
Unbeknownst to me this poem was picked up in October and published at Bon Bon Lifestyle Webazine. Thank you Bon Bon Lifestyle, and thank you Jonathan for letting me know.
woman waiting — House of Heart
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
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
I am a river
entering another river
plunging naked into the
depths of your mind.
Erotic dreams emerge
from the dark waters of sleep.
Perhaps you are not a river
but a flowing dimension of my desire.
Let me wrap you in wings of angels
bind you in garlands of longing,
etch my name in to your bones.
My ears shall be your confessional,
my body your comforter
and there is no sin grave enough.
pink sand pulls away
from a glistening shore,
melting fondant in the
Minute ecosystems inhabit
grottoes in their tide pools
of wet sand.
Some days I stroll the coast alone,
indulging realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
a crushing ache I hold to my breast,
a carapace between a heart and the
mountains where I left you.
Allow me to come undone
beneath the weight of tender
hands on eggshell, my sigh a gentle quake On
Let me drown in the river of
your impossible eyes where there
is no threat of war…hard silence
or the burden of forgiveness.