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 Jun 2017 Amaranthine
Izzi
the road to the moon is an isolated trail,
hushed and enigmatic it endures
the solemn ensemble of stars above
mirror the path like a cosmic vein.

most choose the road to the sun
craving to cast flames across the sky
a vibrant exploration of fervent insanities;
golden pride, aching lust, burning zeal.

if moon crosses paths with sun-
a maddening dance, tiptoeing the edge of a precipice-
the churning heart of the sun beats in tandem
with the ghost-like drum of the moon
out of time with the universal rhythm.

some say sun belongs with sun
and moon only brethren with moon.
but the road to each converges at the heart
where sun will meet moon, and be free.
i don't like writing poems.
 Jun 2017 Amaranthine
Lora Lee
Come to me.
             your inscribed
                slashes of verse
                branded upon
             the juice of
           my tongue
     a specter
    of the ultimate gift
      as we allow
         the magic
              to rise
               and peel off in
         swathed, aching
         layers,
                undone
Each stratum of
  dermis shed
       is a prayer for
         our succulent
                     redemption
                        Each shadow of
                          silky cuttlefish caress
                   a plea for sanctity
            or perhaps simply
            being loved
        into a frenzy
        of sanity
            healing in waves
                    of electric eyes
                          You open me
                    like a holy book
              and I am suddenly
                  filled with light
           as you unlock
the blessings
from my spinal fluid
and I am a priestess
  on her altar
       arms raised,
         love braised
              into slick-lit wonder
               a spiral cone rising from
                            ground to crown
                 chakric palette pulsating
            phosphorescent ripples
on deep-sea creatures
Your ubiety
       slakes my naked,
            somatic anatomy
                   a mere shelter
                          for our souls    
                       a working
       of muscle and skin
    with heart strings pumping
                    the essence within
                     Our brainwaves
                                    sizzle in
                         glandular fire
                        as pheromones
                       envelope us
                   like incense
This goes far beyond the
wet cuntflush of desire
beyond the embellishment
of moistened sword
  It is the sacred dance
         of souls that merge
            before even touching
                      pre-verbal animal
                   first light of mankind
                          in ancient swells
                                 of earth that
                           rise like sparks
                the constellations
           of firework chimes
       in arcs of
chiseled
         dark
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PLwJbfT05KM

Thanks to the poet who gave me this music choice! LOVE it.
If I could read you like a book
I’d read you from cover to cover.
What would I find as each leaf turned over
To find me more and more hooked?

Your expression the preface?
Your walk the reference?
Your thoughts - the appendix?
You should copyright all these.

Your table of contents
Your chapters and headings,
Short stories or pretense,
Or expression of longings.

Each page a blessing
Reader and writer forever conjoined.
Read/Writing without resting
No writer’s block or pages deformed.

One page flying into another
As the story of you unfolds.
Could I be a footnoted lover
With a love that remolds?
Or perhaps the main character,
One to gray and grow old?

Placing one hand on your spine
While the other opens the divine.
Oh if only I could read you like a book
I’d read you from cover to cover

Memorize every line.
The are many meanings in this piece. Least of which are the feelings between two lovers or those evoked by a poem or a book. The most important meaning is that connection to the Devine that resides in each of us.
 Jun 2017 Amaranthine
Ryan Holden
Not only does
The early bird
Catch the worm,
But they see the earth
Open into glorious horizons,
Over her blanket.
My first attempt at a Tanka style. I hope you like it anyway :)
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