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Literature Text
i've always feared the day
when i find your drawers empty.
i cannot sleep without
making love to you first.
i want to look for you
but you are gone away.
i worry about money now that
you won't split bills with me.
i realize you leaving me in this fashion,
you are not a beautiful man.
i want to wait for you
but you are gone away.
i wish i could compartmentalize
feelings (and purely miss you -)
but they're all lumped together:
lumped together, lumped -
© 21.April.2016
Literature
Lilium
To the wilting lilies on my kitchen counter:
I am reluctant to throw you out.
You bloomed within a day. Well, some of you. I snipped off your blood orange anthers with the kitchen shears, coating my fingertips with pollen before it could dust the slate and stain my clothes. Hand jobs are always easier to clean up.
I forgot to water you once. I'm sorry.
In the mornings I plucked chlorophyll-starved leaves from the countertop and tossed them in the rubbish bin. Your support system fell one by one, even as you still grew and opened up to the world.
Your petals began to turn limp and brown. I cut away the flowers that were no longer beautifu
Literature
the world doesn't need beauty sleep
mother earth is pregnant;
her curves yawn -
molasses stretches of dark,
dank night freckled with
streetlights sparkling.
i yearn to rest in the cradle
that the small of her back
has become.
the roads untangle like
veins unto her skin
after being held so long
in the fist of pre-dawn.
drunk in slumber, red-eyed,
beautiful - morning will
come yet, the small child
born in the rafters of
catastrophe, aching;
but before her date,
mother earth shifts in her sleep,
love settling in the wing
of her hip -
exhaustion dilutes her blood,
consciousness touches her golden
shoulder on his way out the door.
Literature
Visitor
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
wrist-deep in fresh soil. Her hands are birds
in flight.
It's late, but no one comes to take her home.
The pale moon offers a silver smile -
the clouds disapprove.
Too tired to dream, she buries her legs in sky.
Tonight she is invincible, untouchable,
this frail girl beneath the stars
this death in light.
-
There is a ghost doing handstands on my front lawn,
falling to her white knees. Her stare is a pane
of glass.
The eyes of the living are often murky but
the eyes of the gone
are windows.
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so aside from empty drawers, how did it manifest to you that your lover has gone away? don't worry about me. abandonment is not a stranger but don't worry this is fiction. © 2016 - 2024 wispy-blue
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Beautiful work, as always, Cristine.