her craving for books
eats up her insides,
a ravish wolf
tearing apart prey.
she feeds on stories,
they are her sustenance.
the sun’s skirt swishes
along the horizon’s spine, flickering
shades of pumpkin skin, grapefruit flesh,
kissing black cherry treetops,
leaving lipstick stains that refuse to fade
until winter arrives
glazed with an icing sugar gown,
an instant chill sweeping,
shaping giant icicle towns.
an island, it was
that I was bound to,
her waves of hair curling
her curves, the rolling hills
speckled with freckles,
the poppies along
the earth’s dirt, her skin.
while eternity hangs by the string
of white lace dresses, the noose of a love
knotted too tight, legs sag
from suite beds smeared with the moon’s honey,
drips onto waxed mahogany floors
of apartments filled with children’s masterpieces
pinned to the fridge with alphabet magnets
and evaporates, the world tipping
too far to the side of
— (prompt of the day: write an epithalamium, a poem that celebrates a wedding, the bride, the idea of marriage etc. I suppose mine has a satire feel to it, seeing as I was discussing just last night how saddening it is for society to expect divorce. There are, of course, extenuating circumstances but for it to be the norm is disheartening.)
the sweet sound
of blackbirds calling
for the city to remain
a quiet mess of sleepyheads,
only the hum of the forest bed
being tiptoed upon by does
and rabbits’ hind legs
I swallow drowsiness
to catch the night come alive
in hushed splendor.
doused with fairy dust and poppy petals,
the fields glow, daytime fireflies
flickering, but only if you discover
the dirt bike path cradled between
the aged forest of wandering wild things
and miss norberry’s fruit garden patch.
then, you must crawl beneath the hollow log,
a curved, wrinkled pub due to
Mother Nature’s four seasons
where creatures sip tea
and share baked goods with friends.
next, follow the rushing creek bed
where thumbelinas and tinkerbells
float on lily pads and hide from frog princes,
there, you’ll find yourself in the center
of that land far, far away,
the one you’ve only read about
in children’s books.
tumblr is such a fresh community filled with wonderful writers and it’s so very lovely getting to know these strangers with beautiful words falling from their mouths, words that seem to be fitted just for me.
with the fire of a thousand suns
she devours his heart in an instant
of mere insanity (or be it, pleasure?)
they meet in the middle
of a golden sunflowerbed, parted
solely by their two souls deciding
whether to swivel and spin
into one big cocoon
and blame it on
his chest erupts, beautiful chaos,
the collapse of a tired heart,
of muted passion
unwilling to be caged
like wild birds with clipped wings
condemned to life unknown.
he explodes, sadness splintering
tiny shards like wisps
of dandelions, floating away.
a rainstorm of words
sweetly streaming, splashing
spring forth from poets’ mouths,
soaking readers into chilling numbness
an exhale of budding sadness
at its end.