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 May 2019 Avery Anne
Amy Leigh
What are the good of words?
We  write  about  love  about
life about lust about  longing
  — yet you:

He is
the essence of a sunny day
I am speachless


© A. Leigh
 May 2019 Avery Anne
Chris Saitta
Love is a Phoenician breeze,  
Purest abjad of Tyrian purple and royal blue,
Pillow bearer of golden consonance between kings.

Love is a Phoenician trader over deepest-sounded seas,
Far-blown nomad that still wants for the thunder of golden drums
And the rain that comes in rounded vowels of water.

Because love has no tribe but is the purest nomad.
Note: “abjad” refers to the Phoenician alphabet that had only consonants and no vowels.  It is considered a pure abjad and was one of the first alphabets spread through the Mediterranean.
 May 2019 Avery Anne
Amy Leigh
I  loved  you  like  spring
blooming   and    full    of    flowers
sunshine   on   days  with   warmth
under  trees, cool  like  the evening
breeze, or rain sometimes for days
as  if  we  should  just   stay   inside
and cry


© A. Leigh
 Dec 2018 Avery Anne
Amy Leigh
Misguided —  we    were    inseparable,   but   things
as  they  do,   always  with   certainty   like  life itself,
change.  These different directions on winding roads
upwards and  even  edged  to  cliffs —these  dangers
in solemn  yet  ostentatious  affirmations: the  I don't
knows   paired   with   the    I    am    sure's.    Which?
Between  the  I  love  you's  and  the   rarity  of  these
honest intentions - these naked  affections with tears diluted  between  breaths. Surely, it was true; true as
formations   upon   mouth   tongue   cheek   in   ***** patterns tracing  up  and  down  skin, hands to thigh
and  then  some — yet now.

© A. Leigh
 Dec 2018 Avery Anne
Amy Leigh
He   inhaled   deep,  exhaled   slow.  We
were    alone,   alas!   The    sun   setting
the   way  it   does   every  night,  except
noticeably   slow  — calm;   palpitatious
patterns    of   sunset  hitting  fragments
of  dust  gliding, glistening through  the
air.  I  watched   them —  the  minuscule
molecules.  Oh! How tiny! — Otherwise
unseen!  Yet,  there,  circling  — evading
space around us, or perhaps us  around
them,  as  if   in  their  existence,  maybe,
not small after all.  And too, it is similar,
these  drawn   conclusions   like   drawn
curtains  to  light.  However, simple, yet
kind  of  comical, that  there I was in my
existence,  nestled cuddled  snuggled —
delightfully  cozy.  Evidently  small  too,
like them.

© A. Leigh
Thank you for all the love you gave.
 Sep 2016 Avery Anne
Beaux
A young beau peeks between
the branches
of the old willow tree
To see his maiden's reflection
Bathing before the Gods
Bearing her body
Touched with soft light
Gentle winds push her irresistible locks
Suddenly he is there
Standing before her
Brought out from behind
By lover's trace
He stood before her
Shielding himself from the Gods
When his maiden spoke
In hushed tones

*"Come. Let us wash those sins away."
 Sep 2016 Avery Anne
Kyle Kulseth
The noise of Fall is deafening.
Tie your shoes and grab your coat.
You shouted 'til your throat was sore.
I watched the seasons
          change from where I stood
          in piling snow.

Listen, friend: I've got a few bucks
and some reasons in one fist.
In the other, got some memories
          and the lining
of my pocket in a grip.

Do you wanna fight the cold off
               with me
          and a couple drinks?
I'm thinking one good weekend
and a friendly face could save this.
Blame this time that's piled between us,
               blame the
     deep snow as we sink.
Call me up and maybe we could
scan the skyline, eyes unblinking.

And I know it's been a long time.
Bills tied hands, time clocks grabbed throats.
You've floated, changing hue on wind
gusting. I'm a name
             you half forgot
          ****** in the snow.

And I'll be gone come Spring time,
with my lowbrow jokes; my crude reminders
of the sharp angles
          of the letters I use
          to spell my name.
 Jan 2016 Avery Anne
eilaf
02
 Jan 2016 Avery Anne
eilaf
02
Each day, a passerby comes
wandering into my mind,
with no intention to leave
this sorry inn behind.

Its way the passerby forgets
amidst regretful rains
with feet adorned with thorns,
and memories and pain.

You, my lovely passerby,
please exit my brain.
The heart's already marred,
Now thoughts worship your name.
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