again, I kiss your absence
It is that sort of night-- the mingling of cold air and warm blood; the singularity of fresh pain from an aging wound; and that madness of youth that haunts these old encumbered bones. It is a night of lingering wishes, where I would reach out without bounds to hold you with these hands at this moment. Where I would...
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It is that sort of night-- the mingling of cold air and warm blood; the singularity of fresh pain from an aging wound; and that madness of youth that haunts these old encumbered bones. It is a night of lingering wishes, where I would reach out without bounds to hold you with these hands at this moment. Where I would...
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night light
The moon lingers, bloated in the footlights, while the tattered clouds scatter like a half-hearted smattering of applause. There is a glow atop the swaying trees, a light that spills and spreads, blazing like any gift from heaven. That other-world flood of brightness, the dead-pan moon shedding that arctic light over the rickety wheel work of a reticent spring. That spill, that shine,...
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The moon lingers, bloated in the footlights, while the tattered clouds scatter like a half-hearted smattering of applause. There is a glow atop the swaying trees, a light that spills and spreads, blazing like any gift from heaven. That other-world flood of brightness, the dead-pan moon shedding that arctic light over the rickety wheel work of a reticent spring. That spill, that shine,...
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the royal we
We would leave the doors open for the dogs, inevitably tracking in mud and weather on days when it rained. Raccoons would raid the kitchen, and scrub jays would clean the crumbs off the counter. The world was wild outside, and why not allow some of this bliss to mingle with our dishes and our pots? We would walk along the seaside,...
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We would leave the doors open for the dogs, inevitably tracking in mud and weather on days when it rained. Raccoons would raid the kitchen, and scrub jays would clean the crumbs off the counter. The world was wild outside, and why not allow some of this bliss to mingle with our dishes and our pots? We would walk along the seaside,...
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untuned
Midnight broke just minutes ago. I am sitting at this keyboard once again, fiddling with these wounded words. Electric light, electric music, a vague, all-consuming ache upon me: what isn't to love? This ponderous diversion, these stray sentences stuck together for no earthly purpose, the sting of scrape and puncture freshly treated-- should it matter that so much doesn't? If it was about what...
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Midnight broke just minutes ago. I am sitting at this keyboard once again, fiddling with these wounded words. Electric light, electric music, a vague, all-consuming ache upon me: what isn't to love? This ponderous diversion, these stray sentences stuck together for no earthly purpose, the sting of scrape and puncture freshly treated-- should it matter that so much doesn't? If it was about what...
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moana:
heyy thanks for the lovely comment on my new set _@/"
moana:
btw i like your name rey pulque :-)
the categorical
It is that rough shell of his eternal absence
that you press between your palms
breathing out remnants of your daily grace.
Candle smoke, candle light, what small flame
has not been readily extinguished or
consumed in its entirety, passions
dashed in cold ceramic clarity,
smoke curling, ashes dancing,
hands making mirrors of each intention of the other,
held in reverent feverish belief....
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It is that rough shell of his eternal absence
that you press between your palms
breathing out remnants of your daily grace.
Candle smoke, candle light, what small flame
has not been readily extinguished or
consumed in its entirety, passions
dashed in cold ceramic clarity,
smoke curling, ashes dancing,
hands making mirrors of each intention of the other,
held in reverent feverish belief....
Read More
dirge and reel
Delicacy abounds in these long slow moments, the lushness of this focus, the pleasure of your insistence. Hands unfold, revealing the flights of touch, the blunt necessity of reaching out in this world spun of trembling starlight and whispers of flesh. Lips press, then part, the heated stitching of each breath completing a cycle by beginning another. While you are this close,...
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Delicacy abounds in these long slow moments, the lushness of this focus, the pleasure of your insistence. Hands unfold, revealing the flights of touch, the blunt necessity of reaching out in this world spun of trembling starlight and whispers of flesh. Lips press, then part, the heated stitching of each breath completing a cycle by beginning another. While you are this close,...
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kingston:
thankyou for your lovely comment 
its usual blue
The twilight nestled in the leaf, it settled on the horizon line, crowding out the lonesome sun. A cold wind slipped in, between limb and bough, beneath the gutters and above the fences. Colors exchanged their distinction for an enduring vibrance, radiating their essential bliss along the narrow bandwidth of my vision. Scrub jay and sparrow scuttle in the detritus, alight in...
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The twilight nestled in the leaf, it settled on the horizon line, crowding out the lonesome sun. A cold wind slipped in, between limb and bough, beneath the gutters and above the fences. Colors exchanged their distinction for an enduring vibrance, radiating their essential bliss along the narrow bandwidth of my vision. Scrub jay and sparrow scuttle in the detritus, alight in...
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little fires, tiny lights
The night has settled, heavy cream in bitter coffee, sweet with indifferent stars. The sky is tattered flags and minor skirmishes, flecked with ancient light, diffuse with mood and smoke. The sky is all encore and curtain call, something granted these slivers of pleasure, but hardly the show. The sway of shadows, the creeping push and draw of passing headlights, the...
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The night has settled, heavy cream in bitter coffee, sweet with indifferent stars. The sky is tattered flags and minor skirmishes, flecked with ancient light, diffuse with mood and smoke. The sky is all encore and curtain call, something granted these slivers of pleasure, but hardly the show. The sway of shadows, the creeping push and draw of passing headlights, the...
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conspire and confound
It is the hour of restless beds, of sinking shadows and the sound of libidinal teeth scraping at their romances. It is the time of stimulation or sedation, the time of spinning wheels and broken thoughts. Sad cycles and old songs, other lives burning bright in the distant language of my mind. I would sift through the usual ruins, shallow graves and...
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It is the hour of restless beds, of sinking shadows and the sound of libidinal teeth scraping at their romances. It is the time of stimulation or sedation, the time of spinning wheels and broken thoughts. Sad cycles and old songs, other lives burning bright in the distant language of my mind. I would sift through the usual ruins, shallow graves and...
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novajade:
Thanks for showing love for my new set!
rainfall
There is a ghost moving through this least measure,
this scant mist like a breath on the shoulder,
that barest breadth of dry allowed before
the inevitable gathering of wet. It is set,
the gear-work of the farthest stars,
the happenstance calamity of lovers
fixed to meet: enmeshed in this next-to
magic, that burden of clouds weighted
gray upon this atmosphere trailing
a hushed...
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There is a ghost moving through this least measure,
this scant mist like a breath on the shoulder,
that barest breadth of dry allowed before
the inevitable gathering of wet. It is set,
the gear-work of the farthest stars,
the happenstance calamity of lovers
fixed to meet: enmeshed in this next-to
magic, that burden of clouds weighted
gray upon this atmosphere trailing
a hushed...
Read More
intermittence
Through the kitchen window I can see the crows palaver, roosting on the swaying wire, plotting their next crime. The clouds stall and flow, a dusk struck foreshadow of the coming storm. The workings of the weather, the conspiring of crows-- two small things that sustain me. Two more reasons in the plus side column amid all this ruckus and calumny of life. The...
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Through the kitchen window I can see the crows palaver, roosting on the swaying wire, plotting their next crime. The clouds stall and flow, a dusk struck foreshadow of the coming storm. The workings of the weather, the conspiring of crows-- two small things that sustain me. Two more reasons in the plus side column amid all this ruckus and calumny of life. The...
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surplus
The burly little wordsmith creases the edges between meaning and meant. Yes, it is that past-- the recollection of magic spells that lead to kisses, the notion that everything was going all right. The one where he would speak some little phrase awakening the Princess you hide, curing you of that burden of never saying no. The one where there were sheet sets and...
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The burly little wordsmith creases the edges between meaning and meant. Yes, it is that past-- the recollection of magic spells that lead to kisses, the notion that everything was going all right. The one where he would speak some little phrase awakening the Princess you hide, curing you of that burden of never saying no. The one where there were sheet sets and...
Read More