Tag: heart book

Petals cry as the sunlight,
 so long gone,
 returns, oblivious to small sadness.
Life pulps through cold limbs;
 corpuscles burn.
The flower opens its eyes
 and takes in the sky
 and the fire.
Red petals soak up the blues
 as they stretch in ecstasy
 and throb till they spy sunset.
The joy that laughed with the sun
 whispers to the stars.

I’m tucked away in a small cabin
 ’mid your vast forest
 and float upon your world of love,
 breathing in and out your atmosphere,
the stars twinkling ’neath your sun.

For you: fine lines.
I press with care;
 the ink bleeds.

I wear a white dress with a pink ribbon in the hem.
I hold my white parasol,
 sit, and exchange glances with your sharp eyes.
You lean in and my lashes fall.
A red-hot poker melts a fat candle without touching it
 and the exposed wick ignites.
You just want to play around.
My strings lie loose on my chest.
Fiddle with them.
Wind them taut to a perfect pitch.
Play till they sing.
Wind, wind, wind
 till they snap.
Break them.
 All along I just wanted you to break them:
 just break them well.

After dropping you off,
I find myself in a friendly gaze
 with God
     or The Great Mother.
I smile for a blissful moment,
 returning occasionally,
 humbler each time.
It shifts a twinge
                   down right,
   down left,
         journeying its way
   down
             the hidden pathways
  in the glass
               it clings to.

Wind weaves through my wheat,
 sun–touched,
 tender nubs heavy with grain
 lifting up to the sky.
They bask.
Would your giant hand brush through them,
 feel their thoughtless, supple stipples
  bounce upon your flesh
  before they burn brittle?
Just whim and
 I gasp as your nails unearth
  the moist crumbles of my cake.
Fallow me
 easily as deep as an entire man.

My hoops,
untouched and so taken,
dizzy and swaying,
rejoice as your arrow
 rushes through,
home at last.

Remove the label
 I’ve plied so much fuss and fret into,
 appealing to the masses.
Unwrap the darkest bittersweet
 encased in shiny packaging.
All it wants is to be
 gently warmed and melted in milk.

When the trees’ silhouettes stand
 against the night sky
 with just the stars peering back
 through time,
 it is a long, lone wait.
When wind blows
 and rushes through every leaf,
 who knows whence it comes
 and whither it goes?
There is a higher power, I suppose.

My ripe vegetation yearns,
 awaiting you,
my barren earth now lush,
 heavy with moisture.
My meadow contemplates
 how much is yours.
My lips’ gentle smile
 anticipates its creator.