I followed my dear friends to the edge of a cliff
and was greeted by a peculiar thing.
There, standing on the edge of the earth
was a swing set waiting just for me.
Her thick black seat and strong metal arms
cradled me while together we flew
into the starry night canvas, sprawling
dark blue, except for a splatter of twinkling
firefly-speckles, from the cityscape
to the moon.

Each time she lifted me I felt closer
to the heavens. I raised my chin
and let the gentle kiss of raindrops
wash away my sins, cleansing
and revitalizing my body like a baptism.
I’ll never forget the smell of the rain
on the freshly-sprouted grass, with dew drops
made from the breath of my friends
hanging delicately in the sweet air
like glass beads strung on a wire
while the crisp wind carried me higher and higher
and the most brilliant masterpiece ever created
was painted across the entire night sky.

I gaze upon your beauty
Breathtaking in its wonder
I lie nestled in exquisite solitude
Beholding your majesty
King to my Queen
In hushed reverence
Dominating my vision
Noble in simplicity
I surrender myself to your moment
Giving up my heart
Abandoning all sensibility
Knowing you will never forsake me
Lulled by the gentle flooding
Of desire to never leave this place
Or your fascination

(C) Pixievic

She's her own landscape                              
No illusions                                        
Spends her time hustling                      
On the emptiness of matresses                                  

She looks for the essence
Mirror's Mystery
Following her own advices

Protects her beauty
Shows her wierdness
Royal and unharmed

She looks for a vibration
The sweet connection
The eyes that will kiss her

Child of imperfections

Innocent without a reason.

oh body, set me free
i want to be a whisper
anything but me
let me roam
just clouds on lilac skies
let me breathe gardens
and stars 'till the red sun rise

An amber landscape expends across the rambling hills,
The Barren trees stretch desperately towards the sky,
As if the higher they climb,
The more they are engulfed by the overwhelming beauty.

The dying embers of the sun race to cover the land in honeyed hues,
Extending across the landscape in rays,
Slowly melting toward the horizon.

All colours become the spectrum of the sun.

Mimesis:  
the deliberate imitation of the behavior of one group of people by another as a factor in social change.*


Somewhere, someone
knows these  colors to be home.
Not only the sandy complexion of the boots,
but the laces slipping and sliding
into loops and over
soft tongues and slowly pulling,
constricting, suffocating.
Even its shape—
the shallow curve of a man’s ankle,
the slow descent to the tips of his toes—
these are the sandy silhouettes and generous hills
recalled from their youth.

Someone, somewhere
admires jagged peaks of pale crested mountains.
The same jagged peaks
they have seen rising and breaking
in the wrinkles of loose fitting fatigues,
and complimented by vests,
spotted with the gentle green pastures
once ruled by their jidd’s sheep.

There are chains of mountains
as wide as chests under Mandarin collars
and just as full of pockets and pouches
as military issued BDU’s—

but this is cheap imitation.
It is a failed mimesis.