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angel Feb 2019
I lay down
your creamy expanse
unto the marble surface,
as if milk made love with
the stars in the galaxies.

I write you out
as pleasant simmer
of pulverized charcoal
and bloated glycerine.

I splatter and spread
fine dusts of Carica
in temperate motion
to touch the sleek edges
of the vanilla branches
on your person.

I hold and dip
my feathery digit
amongst rose water
to grasp the flowers
that frames your face,
like light morganites
that hail from the west.

I cast you off
as the blue sea engulfs
the life from the waters
where life swims with
stable beginnings
and whirlwinds of stories.

I finish you
by letting molten pearls
lither your dark onyx orbs,
surrounded by your lakes of gelatinous almond,
like shooting comets
finding rest on land,
as lightning's faint and close
but never quite touch.

I made you
with intrinsic detail and rawness
to give you the life
that you may never have.
may these words show its own form of art.

090219; 07:29 --- revison due to incompleteness from original file
angel Jul 2019
Pools of aquamarine sink in the depths of golden quartz
as a figment of a feeling --
too foreign to be named,
yet
too familiar to be told --
grasps into their cores
as a their hands intertwine
with sudden daunting urgency.
Long forgotten are the piercing words
that become nothing but murmurs
in the cool and crisp air that fails to
shimmer and soothe the embers
between his and her beings.
By which the ardent winds push them,
so does the tip of his --- no, hers
she laid claim on this many moons ago ---
her knife, nicking a far edge in their chamber,
hilt bobbing in rhythm with nimble fingers.
Patience and longing, fever and urgency,
all colliding as desire feeds on hope.
The closer they sink,
an anchor beneath the water,
where they find each other
in a movement of souls
through a spirited exchange of breaths.
It begins within them,
a threshold
of a furnace
that burns in
war and frost.
internecine series; d1 (prompt: confessions) entry for a sifki subproject
angel Feb 2019
Even as the golden embers of the Sun
sweep the rough surfaces of wood,
the rays command the light to twist,
to show the perfectly imperfect portrait of life.

Even as nature's breath let
the crisp autumn leaves sway with the air,
you don't cease your own little dance
within the children's sandbox.

Even as your eyes crinkle along the edges
with your nose crunching like a flower bud,
you seem as if you were Touch-Me-Nots
that found its way to become a Sunflower.

Even as we align like a seesaw
with weights that drift us apart to a distance, but
bring us closer to the equilibrium,
we would always be close but never quite there.

Even as I see you the way that I do,
even if my words won't reach you,
I write all these to let other seedlings know
of a special flower called *you.
happy birthday to *yoo. :")
angel Jan 2019
Littered on my skin are memories,
of gall and glory;
the coarse touches that fabricated
these mars and scars.
But no being discerns any of these.
They see the wildfire within you,
the flames that engulf
your entire being.
Yet, you are more than that —
more than the destruction which you are.
I am nothing but a minuscule spec
of dust and grime compared to you.
I’ve been with you, for ages, longer,
longer than anyone has known you.
I glance at you from afar, as I
spin around the world and orbit around you.
I get closer to you each step,
but I am drawn back.
The moments where we embrace,
embrace that encumbrance between us.
The stellar beings are jealous,
that we get to lace our dust
and the luminance that emits from us.
We seldom get a chance to intertwine
our cores, to show and tell
the fondness that we attained
for one another.
They say we were
predestined by the Divine,
fated since the beginning of creation.
You give me the luminance that I
cannot obtain without you.
But by the moment we truly clash,
the galaxies will all cease.
To pacify my strife, I then ask the stars
if they could grant my wish
of showing you the memories I cannot give.
keep me in your sight with your fiery embers.

— The End —