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the new thing
like sweet fruit and charcoal
like starlight and the skin between your fingers
the forbidden thing
that will unmake my being
then wash me up on your fresh shores
with the thing that is morning love
my artistreach into the night sky
and smudge the moon and stars
with the pad of your thumb
like you would charcoal,
like i want to do
to your lips.
make the sky blue-black
for us, love.
at the foot of the infinity treewords breathed softly
from your lungs to mine
your hands are such
saying things so
that i can’t bear to kiss you yet
your voice unfolding
we'll never go home again
the first day of springyou are new in the way flowers are new:
brilliant green, soft purple,
the good smell of rain and soil.
let the miserable winter wind
chase its own tail for a while;
there’s something beautifulwonderfulmine
at the end of a sunlit driveway.
she is eternal
the distant curve of the moon
the distant cry of a bird
the distant smell of snow
and when she rises
from the water
reveals her true form
she is silver light
the song of a star
and she asks him
am i lovely to you
brat of prometheus
gaiait turned out you were the whole world, after all;
i stepped outside and you were singing in the green grass,
smiling in the smooth blue curve of the sky,
enveloping me and my glad tears in the gentle breeze.
i took off my shoes and ran for joy.
i will never lose you.
unrequieti kind of like the idea that
i will always be too terrifying,
and you too terrified:
i cannot be the lie you want to live.
so you'll have your arranged marriages,
and i my fear of falling,
and sometimes we'll steal to our own far off places,
out the steel plastic doors while no one's looking
to the place where boundless fields are,
just made for walking and talking and laughing our heads off,
and it's lovely, truly,
the way our hands at our sides sometimes brush,
even if they never can quite take hold of each other.
just goi'm grooving down the summer sidewalk and
i'm just letting hurt go,
singing out loud in your honor
while you drift away across the still sunset pond,
soft pink sky all lit up
and we start to smile
i'm tilting my head to dusty stage lights and
i'm just letting it go,
laughing so hard
it's like crying in the thunder and rain,
and we're two bright metallic stars,
so blindingly alone together
here in our crackling sky.
i'm moving through the world in a rain streaked bus and
i'm just letting you go,
with a song of you that aches so sweetly in my breastbone
and a love of you soft and slate grey in my eyes
and a quilt of memories of you slipping
from my rising shoulders.
orionto remember your name
a rib of stars and heartwood,
shaped in the echo
of a careless sky. earthbound, i
am settling into the silky mists
before sleep, listening for the sound
of the river in you
dragging its heavy body
to the sea.
to have forgotten the whole of it
and remembered pieces. your hands over me
in a numerology
of habit, the arc and fall
like punctuation in a phrase.
those moments i felt the shape
of the letters underneath, hydrogen
and bone, promises branded
in dark. the phantom chase
that binds you. the poison carrying
to know you then,
already strung with ache and sinew
to the swinging axis of the sky,
fractured godhead sheathed
in wounds. and i,
a holy fool,
still writing prayers to sunken mattresses,
wilted gardens, the cosmic pause
of your longing on mine--
before i sleep again
in this body full of ghosts
like an abandoned temple.
this cobwebbed vacancy,
oh, my wandering hunter.
drowned compass bent
in the shape of artillery. gone again
soft as waterthis is the funeral
where grey ash spreads
& in the air, a traffic of kites stream across the horizon,
the ash of sails, ghostly non existent,
sails set wide, slicing across the Hudson river
the water heals itself
rescinding wounds, sowing back together the places
where edges meet, and we become soft as water
doves sow the horizon thus, weaving through the kites on fire
& the lovers on fire
and the burns and burns and ink stains
on quiet carpets
everything became a silent memory buried under graves
in the cemetery sails bloom in deathly renaissance.
overpopulation expands exponentially
underground, in empty spaces
(between the sand, rivers, dust storms)
waves recede and seagulls echo
and the shivering saline sea is rough
(baring our naked spines against the asphalt
of the shore, the seagulls soaring echo
more truth than we'll ever know)
they know about:
recessions, receding shorelines and horizons,
and men retreating within,
Vibrant FallAutumn memories stimulate
under a cardinal-colored tree,
where the relentless wind
once twisted my hair.
The sound of church bells
always encompassed me,
as I sunk into my scarf
to obstruct the bitter air.
And as I read my books,
tales of murder mysteries,
I would begin to take in
the perplexing sights.
And the satisfying taste
of home-cooked ravioli
would warm my stomach
from the chill of the night.
And although the fall time
speaks of an eerie scene,
my train of thought still
consistently turns back -
To the memories resting
under that ravishing tree,
where puzzles of the day
would slowly unpack.
unfound i am petra, i am the rose city
half as old as history can behold
bedouin music serenades the night
as candlelight burns the dimming
apparitions of our mortal plight
i am buena queen of the adriatic
where my po arms and piave legs
lead folk to a trance as i dance
honoring venus as she floods her
lovedrunk venice in vineyard fools
i am the khmer prasat angkor wat
a vespertine hauntingi was once six years old
and i was once cradled
in the tired arms of a
who could only cry
and she'd call sometimes,
"Cass," she'd say,
"baby, i've been drinking again
and your father left -
baby, he left and i can't find him."
i'd put her books away then
and try to find the pills
she never wanted to take.
"do you think he's hiding, Cassandra?"
"no," i'd say, and tie her hands;
i was so much more
of my father than i would have liked
to be, "he told me you need these."
"oh no i don't, baby."
"yes, Mama you do."
goes the goddamned weasel,
just in her
it was silent in my room and silent
when she slept
but i was only six and the world
made less sense
to my squinted eyes and
disoriented speech because
the night was her haven -
i was her haven -
she screamed and turned
enough to make the earth's
rotation seem slower
and hours get longer
and the tick drag
fucking tock seemed more
and more interminable
than the f
I Am In AweI am in awe.
Of the way the wind carries a leaf,
Of the uniqueness of a snowflake,
And of the tenderness of a kiss.
I am in awe
Of the beauty of words
Of art, of family,
And the way music reaches the soul.
I am in awe of many things.
I am in awe of
The double entendre
Of words, of smiles,
And of tears.
I am in awe of
Of an infant,
A child, a teenager,
Of a woman,
And of a grown man.
I am in awe
Of the beauty that surrounds me,
The way a smile
Warms a cold room,
And a friend
Takes away the pain.
I am in awe of the strength
Of a mother’s love,
Of a warm embrace,
And of that four letter word.
I am in awe
Of the warmth of the sun,
The thorns on a rose,
And the passion of the fire.
I am in awe
Of the ground below,
The mountains above,
And the stars
In the darkness
I am in awe
Of the innocence of a child,
And of how quickly
It can be taken away.
I am in awe
Of the stupidity of man,
The elegance of a tiger,
And the brilliance of a sto
Denouement The meadow beneath us slowly
sprouts from sand, scorches earth
like wildfire. Its tendrils drink in dust
until it mirrors the curvature
of our bodies lying on a horizon,
clinging to each other with the power
of a thousand setting suns.
Witch TrialI believe I was a ginger headed poet in a past life,
who wrote love through magik spells
burning candle wax, whispering incantations
under a full moon and painting pale,
naked flesh with dirt and ash.
Dancing with ghostly ravens through flames,
to the thumpthumpthump of my storm heart,
as it became one with the earth.
I roared my passions and my glory
to the heavens above, laughing
like a crazy eyed crone for the sake
of those who feared me.
My witches tongue, hissing, 'Come hither!'
as heat licked my shoulders like an old lover,
the starthis is the gospel of you:
i lay there,
naked and mortal and
crouched with large dark pupils,
a nymph and a priestess and a vision,
my muse who breathed soft wonderings,
on a bath mat
with a plastic yellow bucket.
you poured the water over my breasts and collar bone
and it was holy, holy, holy.
IronmanHear me read it
My friends used to call William "Ironman" because the first time we kissed he got a nosebleed and the taste of his blood haunted me for a long time after it. We'd only been twelve years old and apparently the anxiety spiked his blood pressure to the point of combustion... I remember that when we were forced to take sex ed a few years later we were divided into separate classes for boys and girls, in case a diagram of an ovary was too risqué and we became animalistic and started clawing at each other in our seats, but nonetheless when our teacher Ms Jacobs had explained to us what an erection was in my mind all I could picture was the blood rushing to his nose and then the slash of cranberry across my blouse.
With the idea planted in his mind it didn't take long for William's hands to start wandering, but the image persisted. Every time I thought about just letting it happen I wondered what would happen if he got too excite
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More