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cherchanPoems
i oft wonder    when i stare at you (& seeing how you live like sweet morningdew) if perhaps, you are the work of athena– or instead, pantheons altogether           painstakingly threaded your body together.           i touch your skin and i feel the weather. did they toil over parenthetical curves in your eyelashes, so? did they, in fact,           under faintly ambered nightglo, paint soothing hairline melodies into your soul?           it was they!           who carefully composed       your ballet!      betwixt your brows and your lips lies the aria of your kiss,           and your murmur: the solemn swell of viols. call me daft and sound your drums! i think it had to be the ones who           mastered the craft,    endeavoured to create, who fired in kilns the earths to bake;           who designed the bold mackerel,           its iridescent scale, the peach, how                     malt can turn into ale; the celestial potter who sculpted the stars,         and Jupiter                  and Saturn                                 and Venus and Mars; the ones who spun all into creation,           and could undo infernal damnation; who weaved you from threads cut by the fates from the months and years we celebrate.           from flowers sprouted from the dirt of eden turned into watercolour, your colour, it deepens.           as designed how grapes           may blossom to wine, the specks on your skin birthed from the divine. i oft believe    when i stare at you (& think of how you light me anew) that i’m a curator given an exquisite delight - trembling in awe of your beauty and light -           to treasure and love and care for and feather,           i touch your skin and i feel the weather.           i touch your skin and i feel the weather.
0
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 9:43 AM UTC
a love letter: to your art
i oft wonder    when i stare at you (& seeing how you live like sweet morningdew) if perhaps, you are the work of athena– or instead, pantheons altogether           painstakingly threaded your body together.           i touch your skin and i feel the weather. did they toil over parenthetical curves in your eyelashes, so? did they, in fact,           under faintly ambered nightglo, paint soothing hairline melodies into your soul?           it was they!           who carefully composed       your ballet!      betwixt your brows and your lips lies the aria of your kiss,           and your murmur: the solemn swell of viols. call me daft and sound your drums! i think it had to be the ones who           mastered the craft,    endeavoured to create, who fired in kilns the earths to bake;           who designed the bold mackerel,           its iridescent scale, the peach, how                     malt can turn into ale; the celestial potter who sculpted the stars,         and Jupiter                  and Saturn                                 and Venus and Mars; the ones who spun all into creation,           and could undo infernal damnation; who weaved you from threads cut by the fates from the months and years we celebrate.           from flowers sprouted from the dirt of eden turned into watercolour, your colour, it deepens.           as designed how grapes           may blossom to wine, the specks on your skin birthed from the divine. i oft believe    when i stare at you (& think of how you light me anew) that i’m a curator given an exquisite delight - trembling in awe of your beauty and light -           to treasure and love and care for and feather,           i touch your skin and i feel the weather.           i touch your skin and i feel the weather.
age 17 (old work)
cherchan
Written by
cherchan
22/Non-binary/london
Feb 14, 2025
Feb 14, 2025 at 9:43 AM UTC
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