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Jenay Jarvis Nov 2019
In the park I write:

I wonder if the trees ever feel such longing...
Do they wait achingly in the night for the warmth of the sun?
Do they dream in promises of green?
Emerald, jade, olive, sage, chartreuse....

Imagine it.
A life full of color.
The right words chosen,
A destiny written.
There we lay.
Sleepless under shooting stars,
Awaiting slips of light in dark places,
A morning back-lit from the perspective of pines,
This is what Loblollies dream of.
Streams of sunlight aglow,
Aflame and pulsing.
It's your
Warm hands and soft lips,
A vessel lit from within.

I imagine to be loved by you
Is like-
Swallowing throatfuls of the
Deep chilled celestial blue sea.

Well earned after long quests,
Lead by intuition and determination,
A thirst satiated only by glacial drippings.

The taste - astonishing.
A future rising and swelling,
Like a lunar luring.
The inevitable pull of the tide.

Emerson once said, "When it is dark enough, you can see the stars."

But I see them regardless of the night.
Sometimes even in the morning
Across your skin,
Spilled past your shoulders and
Woven through your finger tips.

I can taste them.
Like a galaxy hidden on your tongue.
As if the universe spilled through your lips,
As if you were the mirror to all things.
As if you were the mirror to me.

Me, this soft thing.
A woman of blessed dark waters,
A developed taste for blackberry jam,
Darker chocolate and deep wooded paths.

I am drawn to you.
If you were the flame
I would blow past the moonlit moths and be the oxygen that ignites you,
That lights you further.
If you were the moon,
I would be the stars.
You lighting the endless stories
I've meticulously strewn across the world.
We would write them.
Glitter this fallen sky in
Continuous constellations,
A map of our creation.

These words would be first,
Drops of light amongst the inky night.
The comets you've dreamed of,
So melodically converted into these words,

I've written here.
Jenay Jarvis Aug 2019
To put into words
Would add a sense of permanence.

Instead can I skip around this one?
Can I instead speak of spilled sunlight?
Solitary thoughts? The windless moon?

And of a distant boy,

Here on a late August evening,
Somewhere dreaming.
Jenay Jarvis Oct 2018
In a home amongst stars,
Openings are pressed into,
Impressions of the infinite,
Warmed with solidarity,
In an exhale of sheets,
Cosmic backs draped and falling,
Into streams of sight.
This liquid golden air,
Crisp and gleaming across
A reflected iris.

The corners basked
In a sunken glow of
Comets tethered,
Stolen times sought for release.
It's stage is immaculate,
Blessed in truth,
Like the weight of something,
In a new age unmeasured.

My house was of billowing air,
It was flightless but floating,
Haunted but hoping.
Every brick crumbled,
Every tool tossed,

My house was a cathedral,
Rich in faith and wanting,
Illuminated in devotion,
It's pages sacred and kept.

You can stand in awe,
At my structure, whole,
This place, a nameless destination,
Unwavering in possibilities,
A final ground for love.
Jenay Jarvis Aug 2018
I fall into puddles.

Inky with resolution.
Sunk down like
Lesser comets.

A new age,
Thickens the throat.
Drifting into lights,

This atmosphere below,
An anomalous abyss.
Jenay Jarvis Aug 2018
It is quiet, finally.
The spiders they tell me,
That dreams are funny things-
Heavy like stones. Disappearing.

At night, it rains.
Water is on the inside,
It fills me.

It permeates the skin,
Past leveed lungs,
My mouth-a ****** dam.

The tips are bursting.
It all overpours.
Like stars thick with oil,
Like visions in a well.

Immersed- you can float here.
It's like a nameless place.
It's like falling into rivers.
Jenay Jarvis Mar 2018
You sleep now
Memories that make us remember-
Early mornings, the smell of school, crisp clothes, the fall of your jewelry, the sound of your shoes.
It's immaculate.
I can see it.
(and) Seeing you weak makes me weak.
As if the loss of one is the loss of many
And it is.
A tribute to my grandmother who passed this morning.
Jenay Jarvis Oct 2016
A stupid girl.
With ideas in bloom
How elegantly I think I'll watch the world
Easily-balancing bones on string
Foolish porcelain thoughts snap-
The edges dissipate.
What's life without honor?
A wilted flower.
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