Running along the precipice of joy Clouds of seagull feathers Stuck between my toes Her salty blush Flushed across my lips Living breathing divinity Right at my fingertips Heart of gold crashing on the reef Seaweed leaves swaying in her eyes Waves lapping at her curls Watching as her wild unfurls Lighthouse in my storm Stay with me Oh untamed beauty Stay with me Deep sea of pearls
It lingers on the tongue Green banana with morning mouth Picked too early Turning brown under the sun Bitter bite Leaving sticky sap on your lips Never quite what I wanted Even as much as he flaunted his Sickeningly sweet eyes It just wasn't right.
I hate commitment, but that's probably just because I'm afraid of it
Pretty boy, You remind me of snowdrops in summer, Skin as soft as their petals Smile warm enough to melt my February snow Giving way for your little flowers to grow. Pretty boy, You taste sweet Like milk dancing in morning coffee, Which lingers on my tongue when I think of you. And a little spicy Like dark chocolate With a pinch of salt and cayenne Pretty boy, In your eyes I see a blue moon's craters A silky sky with cotton candy clouds, And maybe little white sailboats lost at sea, Trying to find the edge of the world... If only they knew that there was no such thing as an end to you. Pretty boy, Did I ever tell you Your body is my favorite work of art, A masterpiece really, Of undying renaissance beauty With curves and edges that I could trace for eternity. That the sound of your voice is like waking up in misty sunshine Wearing nothing but warm sheets Or that your laugh rivals a warm breeze rustling through the trees in late July. Pretty boy, It would be foolish to pluck you simply for your beauty, And watch as your petals begin to shrivel, And even more absurd to think that Snowdrops don't belong in the wild. Pretty boy, will you be mine for awhile?
A boy with dimples had the same dream. To live wild amongst rivers and forests and gentle beasts, With sunlight as our clothes and berry juice on our toes, Pretty moss growing in the hills and valleys of our ****** landscapes. We dreamed of a place where time did not exist, Traveling in painted buses, Humming to the song of a soft kiss. We dreamed of making love in canoes covered in a blanket of mist, Arms pinned against dewy forest beds, Giggling under orchards of peaches and cherries. The blood between our legs would not be sin, Watering the ground under our feet where all the gentle beasts had been. I wished to trace the mountains on his skin as we lay in a meadow of wild flowers. Sleeping by the fire, watching sparks turn into stars, Spellbound by full moon dances, Living in a world of musical silence Stripped of our flesh, our beautiful human disguise. A boy with dimples had the same dream.
In a little room tucked away in her fantasy garden She painted her heart The sound of rasping across a canvas Almost coaxed her lips into a curve Dip and swish and flick against her broken cup Her eyes traced the colors with fragile trust They painted what had not yet been painted Getting lost in the landscape of her emotions Forming at the jagged cliff of heartbreak Pretty little eyelashes fell off as easy as dandelion seeds Getting mixed in with horse hair bristles and dusty aprons Her smile could do the work itself Lighting up in a thousand shades But she only liked the colors Red and blue Because they were his favorite "Cherries and bluebells" she would say “That's what his heart looked like” When he pinned it to hers But he didn’t like the way they mixed “An **** shade of purple” He would say So Bluebells dried pressed against her lips Cherries shriveled on her tongue And he left from the world Leaving little footprints in the snow for miles and miles Now she knows that only red and blue can make her smile.
Inspired by red and blue paint splattered on a trash can
He was pale as death, running down like an over-wound clock Beneath his eyes, dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams. The pale gold odor of his lips, Parted with a series of beginnings. He was confounded with wonder at her presence That voice held him most Swathed in rose and lavender silk The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light. His eyes, a deep tropical burn, on fire like the World’s Fair remotely possessed by intense life like a trembling match stained with creative passion
He searched for her night and day The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain a deathless song a faint flow of thunder he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky. her well-loved eyes, smeared with tears, glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain Its fluctuating, feverish warmth, full of aching grieving beauty, told of unexpected joy Are you in love with me?
You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity. Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories. As I stood in the middle of a room painted white, Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black, I saw you staring back at me.
Burnt fields like black panther fur Shining against your bones Velvet black You’ve changed And changed and changed Yet your love still remains Burnt fields like black panther fur Whiskers are the needles on a compass Always pointing to the azure sky You used to sing when I cried Rolling r’s over rrolling hills A haunting melody startling black birds into the night Feathered constellations against a sliver moon And lips pressed to my salty cheeks
You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate, As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud, Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita, The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd.
Burnt fields like black panther fur Black like the broken wings of mothers before you Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds And blue veins like uprooted trees Stretching all the way to their tired knees Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Speaking in envy of the color gold Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi Yet silver snakes still slither Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls Dripping down the small of your back Until they reach the base of your ivory spine Burnt fields like black panther fur You criticize your aging beauty Because you never thought Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks Could ever look as stunning as it does on you
You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies. So I told you mine and you cried, And cried and cried. But look where we are now, Standing beside each other with the same eyes, Just different reflections.
Burnt fields like black panther fur Tongue like a sword set ablaze Tempered in pools of milk and honey Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids Still reminiscent of those in old photographs Where you saw the little girl you search for in me Burnt fields like black panther fur I am sorry I made you cry But even when our backs are turned We are still Black birds singing in the dead of night Free Thank you mama for my broken wings.
Inspired by a photograph of a burnt field that I saw in an art gallery. For my mom.