his dark corner
Again swaddled in heat and darkness, his eyes flicker and dim. All the ghosts of his past travels, all the thoughts of his dark partner, idling in that steamy silence. The world is all astir with scent and motion, the mingling of dead leaves and cut flowers, the clattering of trash cans rolled to the curb. But his mysterious mind has faded,...
Read More
Again swaddled in heat and darkness, his eyes flicker and dim. All the ghosts of his past travels, all the thoughts of his dark partner, idling in that steamy silence. The world is all astir with scent and motion, the mingling of dead leaves and cut flowers, the clattering of trash cans rolled to the curb. But his mysterious mind has faded,...
Read More
rise and run
How that bird bent the air beneath it, moving so quickly from stillness to flight. How the leaf gained weight falling so far, so slowly. How bright the sky bled, dawn arising out of the thin disguise of night. It is all too much, though there is never enough. It is all too much, staying up this early having given up on...
Read More
How that bird bent the air beneath it, moving so quickly from stillness to flight. How the leaf gained weight falling so far, so slowly. How bright the sky bled, dawn arising out of the thin disguise of night. It is all too much, though there is never enough. It is all too much, staying up this early having given up on...
Read More
coccinelle:
Hello dear, thank you so much for your comment under my set Vintage me. It means a lot for me!
xoxo
coccinelle
xoxo
coccinelle
affectation
I lean back in the cooling breeze, the longed for dose wrought from the leaden heat of too much day, blowing smoke towards the stars. Pieces of the Perseus myth arrayed in slips and starts. Gray exhaust stretching towards the forgotten constellations, fire mingling with air and tobacco leaf. The tired rustle of this dark and restless street forgotten for a clouded breath. The...
Read More
I lean back in the cooling breeze, the longed for dose wrought from the leaden heat of too much day, blowing smoke towards the stars. Pieces of the Perseus myth arrayed in slips and starts. Gray exhaust stretching towards the forgotten constellations, fire mingling with air and tobacco leaf. The tired rustle of this dark and restless street forgotten for a clouded breath. The...
Read More
my profane incandescence
Each thought of you is of you undressing. Never quite naked, never fully clothed. Just the feeling of clothes peeling, my hands burrowing beneath cotton and silk to find warm skin. The feeling of fingering your flesh like a bow drawn across cello strings, the magic of the music of our touch. My breath in your hair, the condensation of souls caught...
Read More
Each thought of you is of you undressing. Never quite naked, never fully clothed. Just the feeling of clothes peeling, my hands burrowing beneath cotton and silk to find warm skin. The feeling of fingering your flesh like a bow drawn across cello strings, the magic of the music of our touch. My breath in your hair, the condensation of souls caught...
Read More
the day after the last
The limitations of the wind, the dry breath of the broken earth, the surrender to ritual when there is little that is not rote in play. Bleary eyed, slaughtered, defeated in that staggered gait, in that familiar sway. Miserable heat and wicked light. Ants trail towards any spill or shock.
Habits of heft, habits of duty. The old way of...
Read More
The limitations of the wind, the dry breath of the broken earth, the surrender to ritual when there is little that is not rote in play. Bleary eyed, slaughtered, defeated in that staggered gait, in that familiar sway. Miserable heat and wicked light. Ants trail towards any spill or shock.
Habits of heft, habits of duty. The old way of...
Read More
false autumnal
The broken light bends
beyond the horizon line,
coloring the trees and eaves
that just drowned shade
somewhere before water,
somewhat to the left of cement.
There is an aquarium air
to every action, from
children racing traffic to
the submerged flight of crows.
A stillness mingles
a solemnity dowsed with shadow
as summer swallows gravel for ballast,
mouthing oaths and epitaphs
all...
Read More
The broken light bends
beyond the horizon line,
coloring the trees and eaves
that just drowned shade
somewhere before water,
somewhat to the left of cement.
There is an aquarium air
to every action, from
children racing traffic to
the submerged flight of crows.
A stillness mingles
a solemnity dowsed with shadow
as summer swallows gravel for ballast,
mouthing oaths and epitaphs
all...
Read More
strange currencies
The reciprocal moment-- where the rope between the fingers imagines it is the rope at the throat, and there is that gasp, that struggle, and something is still there, aching to be saved-- that is the depth of life, in ends and means. That curdled smoke, those bleeding eyes, the horror that compounds with each thought, the fresh hell that blooms in each...
Read More
The reciprocal moment-- where the rope between the fingers imagines it is the rope at the throat, and there is that gasp, that struggle, and something is still there, aching to be saved-- that is the depth of life, in ends and means. That curdled smoke, those bleeding eyes, the horror that compounds with each thought, the fresh hell that blooms in each...
Read More
definition
It is the heavy glass and the first taste of harvest. It is the mocking bird and finch springing through the vines still laden with green grapes. It is the dogs and their diggings, and that failed cat so slow to die. It is all the streaks in the sky which will give way to sparks, the line of light just above the horizon...
Read More
It is the heavy glass and the first taste of harvest. It is the mocking bird and finch springing through the vines still laden with green grapes. It is the dogs and their diggings, and that failed cat so slow to die. It is all the streaks in the sky which will give way to sparks, the line of light just above the horizon...
Read More
I sweat through the sweetness of that dear John letter, that marvel of deft flight and kindly cuts. The air gathers in peals of fever, the summer cloaked in work and salt. I swallow a coffee soaked breath, hearing the weary noises of dying animals and car stereo with something to prove. I breathe in the solicitude of this cracked gear of living, the seasonal...
Read More
Read More
dominoe:
you have no idea how nice that was to read. i really didnt mind the lengthy response!! it is well appreciated. im sending you a friend request....now.
It is the bruise that suits you, the marks that no-one seems to remark upon. The traces of that touch, the silent breaker of secrets. All the lovely ink that mingles with that burning flesh, the stitchwork certainty of art, the natural exclamation of your heart's final tribe. All the bones and the dusk that shine in the hurt behind your eyes. These healing wounds,...
Read More
Read More
for no-one
Every murder is an answer to a question, that circle of why, why not sealed resolutely, a task no longer subject to debate. The part we kill is the loss we meant, the inverse effect of the not thought, that polar bear ignored in the snow. The crime is worse that bloodshed, worse than that cropped continuity of aimless affections and differing moods....
Read More
Every murder is an answer to a question, that circle of why, why not sealed resolutely, a task no longer subject to debate. The part we kill is the loss we meant, the inverse effect of the not thought, that polar bear ignored in the snow. The crime is worse that bloodshed, worse than that cropped continuity of aimless affections and differing moods....
Read More
the favorite hour
The clock is counted down, the day tumbles over, it all begins again. Sleeping windows, drawling light. The finger traced faces, the wounds of thoughtless rumor, that faintest trace of burning bridges. All the stars hang heavy on the shadowed limbs, such subtle structures as are witnessed in these measured moments from the gear spun cusp. The latticework of familiar constellations, the...
Read More
The clock is counted down, the day tumbles over, it all begins again. Sleeping windows, drawling light. The finger traced faces, the wounds of thoughtless rumor, that faintest trace of burning bridges. All the stars hang heavy on the shadowed limbs, such subtle structures as are witnessed in these measured moments from the gear spun cusp. The latticework of familiar constellations, the...
Read More