I long for warmth
Dream of a distant place
Where fire lights the room
Sweet tea eases my soul
And your company
A sure home
For my sweetest escape
Days and nights
Under endless blues
Turned dark that glitters
Through perpetual starlight
We’d laugh and talk
Of silly daydreams
And fearless thoughts
Your hand into mine  
Your arms my safest retreat
I’d lay there forever
Somewhere within hidden
In the warmth of you

the muse came late
her face in battered bandage
her angry beautiful
her homemade crutches
works of art in cherry wood

her face in battered bandages
the muse came late
she gave her blood
in vials of splintered glass
her angry beautiful

the muse came late
her angry beautiful
a satchel filled with herbs
to cure and ****
she gave her blood

her angry beautiful
she gave her battered blood
as thick as cherry ink
her whispered manifesto
a satchel filled with herbs

she gave her blood
a satchel filled with herbs
of rosemary forget-me-nots and rue
her homemade crutches
works  of art in cherry wood

Adrift, floating on this sea
Solitary, darkest night encircles me.
Unable to see, I feel the
Pea soup fog enveloping me
Craving land, seeking light
Or deeply sought dual toned
diaphonic night-call,
to guide me home.

J.C. honey-assasin 29/05/2019

My only comfort as my tears fall with the water
Is the fact that I'm scrubbing away his hands,
His touch,
His lips,
His skin.
Washcloth against skin,
Red erupts from my pores,
But I don't care because
I need to get his scent off of me.
Just a whiff, and I gag,
My tears congealing in my throat.
Why me?
What did I do?
His hands were so soft,
But so strong, and
I could not escape.
Washcloth against skin,
I don't even know where to begin,
For he stripped me down to the very bone
And lay my soul and body naked.
His fault? Yes.
My fault? They'll think so.
Red flows down my legs because of
Washcloth against skin.
I drown myself in cherry blossom body wash,
The off brand kind.
My last thought before I stop the water is
"But I'm not even pretty."