Scattered

what is it that makes me want to disrupt dandelions?

scatter congregates of delicate

into frantic disarray

just to see where they’ll lay

.

i have wild silver in my veins

scorched sublingual stains

i am an errant child grown

into a childlike woman

defining my own

..

the script of my life

shall be scrawled with charcoal tip

and when expunged

by the torrents of time

carbon ash, crumbled, finally freed

buoyant, in breeze swirling

with dandelion seed

The Story

i set myself to read a manuscript

on velvet parchment of skin

delve into a dominion of dermis

revealing the unknown within

hieroglyphs reveal under candlelight

wax smeared commas thereupon take flight

and hallowed breath splatters bold exclamation marks

on the virgin pages of flesh

illuminated quotation sparks

punctuated carnal coronation

turns pages

onto wilder ruminations

from paragraphs pithy and frail

so the story we long for

shall unveil

The Feast

you marinated me in elderberry wine

to titillate tongue tip

pungent, yet refined

you added a pinch of something dark

a fervid flavor, undefined

caressed the scars with coarsened salts

in sweet savory sting sublime

..

and when the time was ripe to take

we sizzled luxuriating on fired grate

juices mingling to caramelize

sybaritic sizzle of searing sighs

flesh thus sealed, tending to underdone

a tantalizing feast

the first of many

had

begun…

 

Tangled

leaf tips arch to the sun

as I to you

exuding breath

for you, my oxygen

as subtle photosynthesis

begins

..

oft times I wilt some

for I carry the heat you bear

your high noon doth sear

I cling, in deep rooted resolve

undulating millipedes absolve

fertile beads dissolve

nourishing

engorging phloems

seeking free

..

I am all spring for you

all colour to counter the greys

of your simmering, clouded gaze

in hope that we

might raise

tangled …

Blood Moon

the Sea of Tranquility

named by an imaginative soul

yet not a sea at all

a burnished, basalt hole

sunken eye watching humanity toil

a pockmarked director of tides

conducting diurnal rhythm

as we squander, as we spoil

heavenly, cyclic conductor

my monthly crimson hymn

whispers to your balsamic phase

 a veiled face reflecting

in your lakes of saturnine solitude, of sorrow

floating weightless in Mare Fucunditatis

childless in my ferrous scented tomorrow

The Worm

are you acquainted with tales of tenderness?

voluble versions of vulnerability

from the pen of one

once a child

who would stoop for the lowly earth worm

on a perilous concrete passage

returning him to lush, moist loam

ending such an errant, wayward roam

..

what would you do with him?

alter the cadence of your stride?

..

and what of me?

for I am in your path

and the day is warm

offer me your shadow

there, a soothing darkness

or

threaten me with careless boot?

i’ve crossed such paths before

lulled in poikiloform torpor

..

no, gather me

my annuli traverse your heart line

your palm sensing shuffling setae

tender me to your love…

in tepid torpor, on soporific soil

tangling in such terrestrial toil 

Paradise

how can i talk of the night

when you blind me with moon

and star pierce my sight

when you tarnish my gaze

with firefly bright

an erratic flicker

pinpricks of light

..

Enchanted

..

how can you tempt with diffident day

soft sunshine sojourn; shadows will sway

in promise of heat, dare you take me away?

..

dreaming

..

of sand and temptation in turquoise seas

our luxuriant skin

under tropical trees

I am the "little armored one", moving gently through life. Hoping to safeguard my sensitivities with layers of words and the expression of thought. Shielding my mirror neurons at times, or tasting music and spinning till I'm dizzy. Every moment here is a gift.