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little star,
cold and timeless,
ebbing in the gloom,
breathing like lungs,
exhale dust.

thin blanket,
old and creasing,
grey and faded vermillion,
stealing our shadows,
a penumbra.

aged animal,
majestic in death,
raising its horns skyward,
embers in ashes,
fossilised stone.

our patron,
quiet and brave,
bringer of gentlest creation,
player of sounds,
little star.
humming strings pick apart the
quiet in the night air, in a simple
and easy rhythm, shivering
through the grass in a dream,
dark at the edges, but a tune
that i remember the words to

dusk in the moonlight, cloud
cover so the comets are just
glowing streaks in the gloom,
but silhouettes on top of the
hill are looking up, missing pieces,
on a cold, windless night

one of them's singing, quiet
and warm, red nails in the soil,
other hand wrapped around a
wrist where the hand ends in
green, in shimmering strings,
trying to press down the chords

it is bitterly cold, and he can't
feel his fingers, they're dreaming
of summer and a breath of it
remains on the air, warmly
fumbling the lyrics under the
clouds, on a hill next to home

and the denim is thick and the
rhythm is less steady, but the
music continues, and a young
child looks out of her window,
and sees two angels on a
hilltop, singing to the sky

the sky, is falling down,
the stars are thin
and the song is
ending, but they
play the final
note, and
it never
recipes and bookmarks
in strawberry are falling,
stains upon my fingertips
grasp colourblind for
reds and yellows and pinks

and all they find is dust,
people, just falling away,
crumbling inescapably,
coming apart in my hands, just
cracking, like mirrors,

and all they do is stare,
stare straight at me as they
dissolve like sugar. they don't
stay together, no matter
how much I want them to.

people cannot stay together.
it seems that we're all breaking
at different speeds, and I might
be broken tomorrow, and he
could be next week, and her,

just dust in the cracks, human
skin in the still air, floating
aimlessly until we're
****** up by the hoover
and quietly disposed of.
Francesca Rose Aug 2020
The sand is coarse among the waves,
The foamy froth curls, rants and raves,
The grainy ground is wet and packed,
And seaweed from the ground is hacked.

Plucked from stormy shallows dark -
bold fish swims among the shark.
Twisting in the deeper pools,
Threads of green unfurl in spools.

Monster beyond comprehension,
Slim limbs hanging in suspension.
Serpent lurks in Blue Lagoon,
Carved in its scales a single rune.

Magicks infuse currents strong -
powers deep and tendrils long.
The shrouded spirit, great insurgent,
Mairocant, the last sea serpent.
Francesca Rose May 2020
carefully reaching for your hand
it's the first day I've seen you in person.

I've known you for long enough
that I'm surprised when you grab my hand back.

when I look into your eyes, I see fear, and trepidation, and sadness, but also hope and happiness and love.

I will do everything I can
to keep holding your hand.

you hold mine so gently
so carefully. so kindly.
Francesca Rose May 2020
imagine if we had a small flat
buried in the middle of the city
like i know you want
away from the sky.

living together and dancing
drinking mocktails and laughing
i want to see you happy
just once. just once.

we could have a dog or a cat, because
we'd be in a penthouse suite looking
over the rainy cityscape
up high in the thin air.

there would be dreams experienced
side by side in the night
and when you say my name
i won't miss a beat.

it's just a fantasy, a novelty
afforded by imagination
so that when i hear your voice
i see our flat in the city
and not what you wish
had said
to me.
Francesca Rose May 2020
Tell me five things you can see.

I can see the glimmering flame of a scented candle. It's spiced gingerbread, or pumpkin spice sugar cookies, or something. The flame dances above the wick, swirling hypnotically in my vision.

I can see my cat, curled up and sleeping soundly beside me. His little chest is rising and falling slowly, and his ears flick every now and then. His paws are embedded into the fabric of my dressing gown.

I can see my lamp, shining a warm yellow light across the room. The body is a dull chestnut brown, but the shade is silvery and glinting with spilled glitter from when I was young and played with fairy dust.

I can see my ring, golden and inscribed with some Hobbit language on both the inside and the outside. I wear it everywhere. It's a bit wet. I just washed my hands.

I see the moth sitting in the corner of the room. It's waiting for me to turn the big lamp on, I think. It's very small, with its wings all tucked in into a little rectangle. I haven't named it.

Tell me four things you can feel.

I can feel the soft cotton fabric of my duvet, running slightly coarse under my fingers as I rub it absently. It's rippling slightly from my fan.

I can feel the air from my fan gently lifting my hair off my pillow, blowing cool winds over my hot neck and chilling my exposed hands.

I can feel my wall and the paint chips flaking off it down the side of my bed. I can feel a small hole in the wall, creaking slightly when I push it.

I can feel my glasses resting on my nose, slightly slipping each second. There's a wisp of hair stuck in the hinge, and I gently pull it out.

Tell me three things you can hear.

I can hear the quiet buzzing of my laptop, humming monotone beside me, its heat slightly warming my ankles.

I can hear my fan whirring, singing out its little tune as it rotates around the room, occasionally clicking as it knocks against a bottle of body spray or cologne.

I can hear my cat purring softly as he sleeps. He sneezes every once in a while, and he burrows into his paws with a small squeak as I watch.

Tell me two things you can smell.

I can smell my candle burning away, a Christmassy scent that reminds me of watching old Netflix shows with a mug of mulled wine or gingerbread latte.

I can smell my cologne, a Diesel scent that's intoxicating. It's calming, and reminds me of sitting around a picnic table with my friends, rolling dice and leaning on each other too close.

Tell me one thing you can taste.

I can ******* toothpaste, gritty and sweet mint flavoured. If I lick my lips, I can still taste a bit of the ice cream I was eating - chocolate caramel.

Please relax, and go to sleep. You're too tired. I love you. Goodnight. I'll talk to you tomorrow.
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