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In the dark of night, the moonlight gleams,
A woven net of shadows, tangled dreams.
The air is thick with fragrant wine,
And in my heart, desires entwine.

Beneath my skin, the pulse beats tight,
An ancient vine that twists in the night.
Olive branches bend with weight,
Heavy with words we never state.

Unspoken, they crawl within,
A fever that blooms beneath my skin.
Taste the salt, the sweat, the heat,
Where every thought and breath do meet.

Lips part with a trembling sigh,
Touching ink that whispers why.
I drink in your presence, drown in the sound,
As if your soul’s pulse can be found.

The air is velvet, soft and warm,
A breeze that dances, kissing the storm.
Magnolia blooms, creamy and pale,
Petals unfurl like a lover’s tale.

Longing is rooted, deep in my bones,
Hollows echo, like ancient stones.
I write in the silence, ink and wine,
Merging our hearts in a tangled line.

The sun bleeds a crimson kiss,
As desires burn with gentle bliss.
Inside, our bodies pulse and sway,
A rhythm that calls the night to stay.

We crawl together, beneath the vine,
A twist of love, so dark, divine.
A phrase, unspoken, but understood,
A soft, aching truth, forever good.

The night is long, the vine twists tight,
But in this love, we live tonight.
sometimes i wish i was
anything but a human being
anything but a creature
that feels everything
on another level
either way too much
or not enough
i’m either on the edge
staring out the window
looking down
trying to run from the flames
and the fire around
or at the very bottom of a low
wondering when the next fall is due
but resting my head
for a moment or two
before it all starts to fall apart again
having to find a way through
to manage how imbalanced
my own coping mechanisms
don’t always work
they cause nothing but
more harm and damage
and yet i appear and show myself
not a single person can guess
what is wrong because
i never give them a reason to
or let them see what goes on
behind the stage
behind the scenes
of a raging storm
invisible enemies
and the battles i daily fight
i hoped that for once
someone would see me
the real me and choose to stay
like i always did with those
who never truly knew me
or cared enough more about me
than what they could get out of me
i still offered love and compassion
they were never worthy of i know
but through thinking i could save them
i was trying to save me
because i don’t know
how to pour all of that into myself
how to give me the very thing
i freely give away to others
not asking for in return..
sometimes i wish i had something
an alive object
that i can place down
all that love into
and watch grow
but it’s never the same as
pouring into another soul..
Thus, I have come to understand the worth of inadequacy –
my accuracy that targets the essence of your heart, is obscured
by my vision, ensnared by your eyes. You elevate my lows to
astonishing heights, tormenting me with your kisses, for we
never get to kiss twice.

It’s always one of those quick goodbyes; "I’ll see you in another
life," as if you’re untroubled by the thought of a reason to die.
Yet, won’t we all meet our end eventually? Some days, I wish
for a gentle passing for my weary soul.

And your eyes – don’t they seem to possess an awareness of
their own reflection? Your beauty is a weapon, silencing my
tongue, rendering me unable to articulate in words. Paralyzed;
I am numb in place; I can't look away from your eyes.

So numb in love...
A pretty moon dressed in her silk clouds –
She compliments my dark skin; we are twins
Her and I are a distance love, but ever so close
As she shines upon all of my sweet dreams.

A shinning attraction, my eyes nightly distraction;
A lonely caption – so much of her, so much of her
Glowing white of magic.

Oh, how pretty the moon is tonight.
 Nov 2024 Maryann I
brinn
the cold air
can be seen
every time
we take a breath

my tears sting
as they race
down my cheeks
to soak into my scarf

my hand has
gone numb
and no longer had
yours to hold

Christmas music plays
jingling merrily
as my heart
shatters to the beat.

the words
dancing off your lips
hanging in the air
as if they were mistletoe

”i’m sorry”
i watch as you turn your back
and walk away
for the last time.
 Aug 2024 Maryann I
MetaVerse
Antique
paper
& ink
& glue,
a fragrance
I drink
in through
my nose,
fragrant
like a dead rose.
I fan my face,
& fall into
an antique book aroma coma.

— The End —