Is it the words that flow and rhyme
And dance in rhythm, keeping time?

Or is it a line
That breaks when it wants to,
Not when it’s told;
A thought
Spilling without apology?

Or 5-7-5
Secrets whispered by the wind
Words, though few, sing true?

Perhaps it is found behind coughed petals,
Fourteen lines aligning to pave a stage
Where lovers for love charge into battle
And hearts are found pierced or tangled in rage

Or ten words, though short, a poem for the world

Or the sun spilling gold across the sky
Painting clouds as the sea drowns its light.

To me, poetry is emotion;
Memory,
Ink spilled where the heart leaked
And it is not meant for everyone

I was born
with questions in my mouth.
Why do wolves howl?
What do bees dream?
Will I ever be held
the way that the ocean's depths
hold secrets?
*
I pressed my hands
into the cool dirt of every mystery,
removed them to find earth under my nails,
ink on my palms,
and a smile I still cannot explain.

They tried to tell me:
not everything needs to be known.
But how could I keep from exploring
when every whisper of the wind,
every caw of the crows,
every daisy's petal,
tells me there is more.

They tried to tell me:
Pandora's jar is just Eden's apple
wearing a new name -
blooming only sorrow,
but can we really know the light
without the dark?

Hope was the last thing breathing.
She was caught in the looking glass,
unable to speak,
and I thought her reflection
looked an awful lot
like me.

On an autumn afternoon, I order chai, but she prefers pumpkin spice.
I watch candle-lit shadows dance over her acid pool eyes.
A thrashing storm in my chest, I feel myself be ****** into her abyss
I'm melted quickly; my dying wish is for my remains to fall in her cup so I can meet her lips.
But if I can't have that, then bury me with the leaves and cinnamon sticks.
And at my grave, leave me something pumpkin spice.

I was born with 12 eyes
they said it would make it easier
to see the light
but it only left me inching
in a fog
hiding from shape-shifting shadows.
So I learned to consume the dark
with my mandibles
and let it seep in to my hemolymph.
The parasitoids laid out fences
of peppermint and lavender -
trying to cage me.
But the oak tree took me in
and let me rest upon her leaves -
told me to shed my old skin.
I hung myself upside down under her branches
tried to see the world from their point of view
but there was still so little light,
and the birds were cawing
threatening to have me for breakfast.
I learned to hold myself tightly,
wrapped in imaginal discs
that liquified my dreams
into a rich soup for me to drink.
I emerged
soft and wet -
with ommatidia that see in all directions
and bear witness to invisible colors;
and with wings formed like dragon scales,
that move in the shape of infinity.
Now I feast with my feet,
feeding on nectar of Chloris
and cross continents
while they marvel at how far I have come
from the ground they tried to keep me on.

Would it be enough,
If the wind between us was but a breath apart
And I could smell your perfume as clear as
An ocean breeze upon a private beach?

Could you feel content
If our tender hungry lips
Finally collided like warring ships
Tongues twisting like Kraken tendrils
A war on two fronts until it hit a crescendo —
Of panted breaths and red heated flesh
Left feeling needy?

I am restless with intent
Intended to undress your tension
In kneading palms against knots that know not —
The ways I work magic in sculpting fingers.

So sh, silence those eyes
And lower that protesting volume
I know it’s been a while,
But I will love you like a fairytale
And you can tell me what you want in the ever after.

There’s no wind on this mild noon,
While I sit and heed the birds,
Whose songs flutter through static air
From trees in infant bud.

Gnats fly close and dart from my hand,
Scouting the field of my face—
A grievous offense to my peace,
Teasing my patience with some game.

And now, this stingy zephyr,
That denies its easing balm—
With venomous chuckle, it watches
Me stricken with violent discomfort.

The trees, those rogues, seem to mock,
Snubbing incessant insect assaults.
They’re truly quite vicious—
Leering, too idle to offer me shade.

And why are these birds so loud?
What could they possibly need to say
That’s so direly crucial,
That their nettlesome tumult go on?

Standing with petulant ire,
I stomp my retreat from this place,
Bidding nature a stormy farewell,
Bellowing bitter, barbed refrains.

To every chirp, a scornful shout;
To every rustle, a spiteful glance.
The trees will hear of my affront,
And suffer for this wasted time.
©️2025 David Cornetta

He said my name like an oath.

I said his like a war cry.

We met in the ruins of reason,

and built something holier from chaos.


He wore the moon in his eyes;

silver light and tides that pulled me under.

I gave him the sun,

burned my hands just to keep him warm.


We weren't star-crossed,

we were conjured.

Some cruel myth breathed us alive,

then turned its back and laughed.


We stole time from the fates.

Danced in Hades’ garden,

bathed in river Styx,

stuck out our tongues

as the gods crossed their arms.

He held my soul in his teeth

like a prayer too sacred to swallow.


And when the sky cracked,

we didn’t flinch.

We were the storm and the silence,

the prophecy and the curse.


Let the poets argue if it was love.

Let the priests deny it with trembling hands.

Let the world remember -

we are unforgiven

for making the heavens jealous.

She waltzed in wearing lavender -

not the bruised blue hue of dried buds,

but the soft, delicate shade that makes you forget

poison can be pastel

and alive.

The cerulean seas of her eyes

surveyed me with a crocodilian smirk

an undertow ready to clench and drag

for its own amusement

She smiled like silk,

shiny, delicate, costly

as she handed me a cedar latched spice box.

Inside

red cords, scissors

pressed flowers so fragile they'd shatter

with a whisper

and a single letter sprinkled

with cayenne

sealed with red lipstick

too heavy to open.

"Time doesn't belong to you," She whispered

like it was a flirtation

like my hours were hers

to unwrap

to discard

She kissed my questioning forehead

soft, sealing, dismissive,

answered nothing

just reached for my hands

with perfectly manicured cold fingers

I gasped awake

my mouth full of cinnamon

dry and hot

a goodbye I didn't choose caught in my throat

that I prayed I'd never have to speak.

She's reappeared now and again

in the corners of mirrors,

fond of the elevator's reflective surround

and the hammered copper coffee jar

that stays open like a lifeline.

always twirling her ashen ringlets

waiting? warning?

When I glimpse her, I open the lace covered windows

and let the sun reclaim the shadows -

until even her perfume forgets my name.

Nothing like the smoky atmosphere of a dense city,
When you walk through the crowded sidewalks,
Cross through the busy streets,
And find yourself in good company.

The air seems lighter,
Fragranced with bourbons and bergamot
Various colognes and scents crafts a potpourri
Unique aromatic symphonies tickling the nose -
The only way a good bar can.

I'm parched by the time I hit the bartop,
Shoulder to shoulder with other patrons
As casual conversation flows like the taps,
And then I am asked, "What'll it be?"

How could I resist the sensation?
Smooth caramel-colored bourbon,
The sweet seductive tingly tango of vermouth
And the tangy fiesty bite of bitters,
Place that dagger pick through the cherries
And let me sip on that elegance.

A little dash of heaven,
In a crowded room.