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liz Apr 13
make a home for me
in the words u weave.

mothering you and i
for years and a day,

i lay, washed in sound.
litanies of love, built

strong upon two souls
softly held in heaven.
building altars of sound, so the love has a record for the years to come.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1iJ501C6F89ONJVjPqnrjE?si=vMvItzXaQiqWXhNVjmelIg&utm_source=copy-link
liz Mar 15
to sort my brain out, untangling
the maze of sounds and soul spaces
in which i hide my melodrama,
i take a daily dose of catharsis in
the rain on my windshield
as i ferry myself here and there

with an armful and an earful of
incomprehensible emotion.
a little bit of angst
comes with the territory,
mapping out the edges of my mind,
building windows in my eyes

squares of daylight can slip through
to clear the cobwebs and pesky shadows.
if only jazz could jerry-rig my mental health
into some semblance of sanity;
alas, i'm accustomed to discomfort.
15 march 2021
  Mar 11 liz
Archer
I write love poems,
to women that don't exist,
hoping that my words,
will them into reality.
liz Feb 21
thinking of
kissing you in the midst
of your bones, concave;

i can make you
into a summer home, silky
and husky warmth.

heady til my heart beats
the stone of my body
into something soft,

like rubincam herself
formed me,
you chiseled away:

so here i am
pondering the taste
and feel of fingers

jaw stretching
to better shape my lips to  
lust, love or

bone-deep laughter on
sunlit evenings. i lie in bed
with a long sigh

aloud in the night,
considering the ways
your chest causes me to ache:

voice rumbling against me
til my skin soaks you in
like oil and honey.
for u, lucifer, with love
liz Feb 8
if god is a woman
then i'd love to crawl inside her womb
and feel regeneration;
feel the cosmos sparkle
in the sweat between her thighs,
know what it is to taste creation.
is this blasphemy? indecent?

if i am a woman then
why can i not love the power
she has gifted my body:
in the marrow of my bones,
layered gently in my curves?
her names multiply
between these two lips and
i'd love to hear her whispers;

oh, how much the world needs her
patient, fierce and love-drunk
sweetness that sings our memories
into existence. her hair is
the curtain dividing the seas:
of night & nature & the blood in us all;

she weeps when we spill it.
every ruby drop is falling from her lips;
we break her bones when
we dig into the earth, ****
her precious body and destroy
the bounty that she's given us-
but still does she love us?

she is more than mother,
than lover and artist,
fire-haired horizons and
opal eyes that span the skies.

i love her with everything i have;
is she listening to us now?
she makes me nervous,
how she sits naked in the heart,
pregnant with our destinies,
endlessly listening to our songs
of pain & lust & death's grinning hatred;
and now, quiet: she is still in my soul.
april 2018 - february 2021
liz Feb 2020
hadn't left bed much of the day
til i swept dust into corners
dishes piled in a neat stack, *****
but a veneer of togetherness
yet lingered in the smell of soap.

a sick day, i took it unwillingly
laid prone in the sheets
til salt dried crinkled on my face;
birds gathered at my window
twittering at me to feel the sun.

the bed was a sea, i drifted
far away til sunlight was weak
and soon rain washed birdsong
out of my ears again.
the ache deadened with every
rush of windswept water.

at an obscene hour i stumbled
not really awake but full of need
into the mess of ordered day,
to-do lists calling like bluejays.
each footstep an afterthought,
each crash of thunder a warning.

days once were brash, beautiful
i kept pace with birdsong
barely in bed but to **** or sleep
and rain grew the roots of joy.
somewhere still i swirl about
salt in pockets and fresh faced.
10 de febrero 2020
depression days
liz Feb 2020
krule jangles in the speaker
a songbird sits pretty in my chest
so i crack grins, side-stepping the cat
to swish thru the sun soaked living room

until the skies darken
find me throwing salt into corners
a dust bunny feast, serenaded
by the joy bursting out my fingers

a pan simmers in the kitchen
but i grab the cat and whirl around
shade may sweep itself in
still i'll dance as dinner finishes
02 february 2020
dum surfer, culinary delights
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