Old men remember
The taste of a long lost love
Bitter herbs turned sweet
My fingers have tasted the moon, and my mouth is sealed with hyacinth
Whiter than the skin of pomegranate stars purify with bitter herbs, set alight by the bright face of morn
World's light membrane burns on drought, for our milk tears are insufficient to cleanse and make it whole
I had told no one
Where that speaking plant was;
For, it bent where no eyes could look
And where the woods became a mirage.
It led to where Daphne took,
And where the butterfly seed would ride.
Sent from a moonlit breeze
near the noxious smell of the tide.
It grew in marsh where all rested still, separate from time;
Where, the digits of the woods can grab you
and the Green Lord wears a Henbane Crown.
So watch where you step when you are among my kind.
It is you who I blindly follow
For every kiss, we have made,
Tastes like blood and mint
With the bitter decay of a lotus heart,
Just as spoiled as a cup of
how do i title things
Our affections are resinous
By the grindstone, made
Our patience tasteful impressions
By words, sweet turpeny made
Our laughter like camphor
Sowed by thyme, made
Your love is unwashed
Grown and ground, made to steep
Cherry beans, grown in their burgundy glove.
alone i smoke the herbs,
i inhale, the way you taught me,
every draft, every breath, every release,
you spread through my body,
like a river entering the sea,
flowing through my veins, the cold blood,
overheating, like a hot summers day,
making me meltaway
oh how i love you
her bare toes touch the
the bottoms of her feet
now covered in mud
her feet are the garden
growing fresh movements
her mind is the water
nourishing the herbs
Jasmine smells of Lavender to me,
except the plant of color reminds me of a time that was lonelier.
I've held a bit of the scent,
but was compelled to be rid of the dried herb that lingers,
and tickles my legs in my own bed as a reminder
to dust myself off and try again.
I sniff the freshly fallen blossoms I've laid atop
my comforters, fondly.
I try to erase the fear of the spirals,
smelling flowers and escaping sleep
and remember that I've become the company I keep.
So that when I anoint my temples with white petals
I forget the loneliness lavender reminds me of.
I lie in wait for space.
A space of my own
where quiet ambiance roams
Jasmine and mint steep in time
growing lax on a warm sunlit spot on the floor
my book groaning at me to read it,
just a little more.
something deeper than self-care
a little something of self-healing
I wait for you.
My mysterious being,
although I doubt you exist
I feel myself losing it all in the rift
of these futile wounds
and these nights of sunlit tunes