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Yemaya 4d
she filled my thoughts
hazing my brain like cigarette smoke
her beauty beaten and bruised
her eyes still rang true
shes the kind of woman
you can't ever forget
sappho greets her as she
would a reflection:
hand against hand, staring into
her eyes. silence dancing
around them as a long-lost love-

enheduanna sighs at the contact
and the quiet shifts as
her fingers close:
as there is no need for language
when her
inanna will grant them
a holy diadem.


eternity reeks
of nights out on the lawn
daisies growing with the weeds
pillowing beneath the two
dwindling women -
hands clasped tightly,
their eyes closed.
...lapis blooming
within the petals
of the undergrowth...

gods slumber amongst
worthy poets occluding,
heart-soothing each
other without words
or sonnets
or divination.

sappho dared to
look out from
for she was
at dawn

...her honeyvoiced,
    a sweet-shelter
    of temptation
    and goddesses
    who wage
    tender war and
    drink from pools
    of sun...

at dawn
the ancient

and sappho
forgets she
too is nearly
as old

for her lover wears
an invisible golden-
crowned circlet
of springtime
and illuminated

but she can hardly think
anymore, when
the songsmith of
glory and prayer
is kissing her.

laying in the basin
of heaven and skies
she pours restless
eternity down
her throat.


lapis melts
to pink clovers
of fowlerite

no mortals notice

two bodies blending
between poems
rustling tunics
maidens casting
away their  



a woman
of verse.

hardly expecting
kisses of burning
solstice and
for this piece,  i wrote about sappho and enheduanna. both ancient poets, both incredible women who achieved a lot with their poems and lyrics. i allude to some phrases/words from sappho's fragments, as well as verses from enheduanna's poems.

i also referenced quite a few letters from open me carefully, a collection of emily dickinson's letters (what remains of them) to susan huntington, her close friend and eventual sister-in-law. the references are honestly vague and you might only catch them if you've read at least the first chapter of the collection.

also the title is a fragment from sappho, featured in "if not, winter"

here's some info on all of that for some much-needed context.

sappho: (l. c. 620-570 BCE) was a lyric poet whose work was so popular in ancient that she was honored in statuary and centuries after her. little remains of her work, and these fragments suggest she was gay. her name inspired the terms 'sapphic' and 'lesbian', both referencing female same-*** relationships.  

[some phrases/words from this piece were taken/inspired by "if not, winter" - a collection of fragments of sappho's lyrics and poems].

bio source: wordhistory . org

enheduanna: (pronounced en-hoo-d-ah-na)  was an akkadian-sumerian princess, poet, and priestess who lived around 2285 BCE. not only was she the first author on record - she was also daughter to king sargon of the akkadian empire, a powerful woman figure, and the backbone to a synthesization of two newly unified cultures.

she is acknowledged to have penned the first known example of poetry, and wrote 42 hymns that were read across the akkadian empire. additionally, she was the first named poet to refer to herself with the "i" perspective. through her writings, she combined the akkadian counterpart (ishtar) of the sumerian inanna into a single goddess that brought akkadians and sumerians alike together. though this first served as a culturally-conscious and politically driven move, it morphed beautifully into enheduanna's lifelong relationship with inanna.

enheduanna's success and works as the high priestess at the temple ur helped bridge a gap between self-discovery and religion. many of her hymns and poems - especially "the exaltation of inanna" gave a human connection to gods; something far more powerful in the long run, compared to the old ways of gods growing the land, mixing the sea.

[i ripped all this out of a research paper i wrote a few years ago. enheduanna is my niche special interest and i find her life and story so utterly fascinating].

open me carefully: emily dickinson's intimate letters to susan huntington dickinson

susan huntington gilbert and emily elizabeth dickinson were born within days of each other in December 1830. they may have known each other from girlhood; they certainly knew each other from adolescence; and they had begun to correspond by the age of twenty. their relationship spanned nearly four decades, and for three of those decades, the women were next-door neighbors. together, susan and emily lived through the vicissitudes of a life closely shared: susan's courtship, engagement, and eventual marriage to emily's brother, austin; susan and austin's setting up home next door to the dickinson homestead; the births of susan and austin's three children, and the tragic death of their youngest son, gib.

in open me carefully, we see that emily was not the fragile, childlike, virginal "bride who would never be" writing precious messages about flowers, birds, and cemeteries from the safety and seclusion of her bedroom perch in amherst, massachusetts. dickinson was devoted to her craft, and she was dedicated to integrating poetry into every aspect of her day-to-day life. she was engaged in philosophical and spiritual issues as well as all the complexities of family life and human relationships. she knew love, rejection, forgiveness, jealousy, despair, and electric passion, and she lived for years knowing the intense joy and frustration of having a beloved simultaneously nearby, yet not fully within reach.

Emily Dickinson Archive

NY Times Archive
fray narte Feb 6
i disembody you in poetry:
thin scabs film over your bones,
i pick them until i find new skin to lay my kisses on —
a new land to baptize
with my own heathen hands,
i disembody you with them:
chest spread open like that of a dressed foul.
my body is too corrupted but it knows of intense longing,
piercing live-coal eyes, it burns
my neck like a crucifix,
like flames on a burning metal —
it heals, almost cleanses like holy fire
and with new bones,
i disembody you in poetry:
an attempt to see you, hold you, love you whole
without it consuming me:
a sight of pink lips, pink tongue,
pink columbines on your wrist;
i take apart your entirety,
press it, piece by piece on my fragile nail bed — hidden away
somewhere the world loses its sight.

and maybe now after all the cycles, it is the world's turn
to fumble far and wide, to despair in search for your hands —
your eyes
that unsettle and leave the cosmos
collapsing majestically
in its own harshest daylight

leaving us all disembodied
in blinding, vivid, solar colors.

forgive my compulsions to love you like this.
fray narte Feb 6
i can never love you the way i claim — delicately and without violence. i remember hating flowers and broken seashells, and my grandmother, hand-sewing pastel dresses. deep down, my bones are raised on stories of ancient wars and biblical battles carried from memory to memory, a string of generational blunders — i am made of my father's bitterness and my mother's denial. so i will love you with corruptions and apologies, with bled-out  veins, giving in like an emptied river, with all the poems i have read and forgotten, and with everything that makes me finitely human.
fray narte Feb 6
i am sorry but my bones will always love you like hell, like it was war, like the world needs to end in the process, like the hand of god, taking you out of my ribs and now he needs to return it back where it rightfully belong. i will always love you, in godless sacrilege. i am sorry if i don’t know any other way.
fray narte Jan 17
the stars weep over all the terrible ways i have loved you —
dress you in their light caught
in my aprium kisses and cigarette daydreams.
empty my ametrine veins,
disembodied to hold your bones together —
kiss you, break me, leave me
burning and trapped in a lantern room; watch me
sink ships to come back to your arms; you've always waited.
and they all still weep and fall
over all the terrible ways i'll still love you

long after they die.
fray narte Dec 2021
Here we are as unclaimed lights fall into the room. Here we are with better names, old letters peeling after the other. Here we are, now made of changing lights and indigo dreams. In the very last month and for the first time, I claim the body of an Egyptian lad and you are the sun god, washing over me like a brand new day. For the first time, December doesn’t feel like choking on poppy blossoms. For the first time, December is freeing as scattered pastel lights.

For the first time, my love, December rests on my skin — and it doesn’t hurt.
s Nov 2021
it has been years since she learned how to make peace with her high school crush on you until it no longer stung
but you still talk every now & then, and every now & then she still finds herself quietly slipping in a flirtatious joke or two
playfully, discreetly, framed like a tease but the undertones are simply left unsaid, tucked away like your little secret
today she dates a man, long-term and loving, yet she knows she still does it to you every now & then just to feel something again
even if it meant feeling 15 years old again, in her pinafore and bata sneakers with her painfully simplistic understanding of love

to her, women are beautiful but impossibly out of reach - she is at peace having her daydreams about them from afar
she panics at the thought of actual reciprocation; internalizing past heartbreaks had taught her that she was unwanted
attractive only through the shattered lens of the male gaze, she comes to believe tenderness is something one must be deserving of
her younger uninhibited self escapes once more every now & then - it's harmless, she tells herself, she only flirts with you for fun
she knows all the old poems she wrote you have been shelved away in her archives to gather dust
but years pass and she learns to truly stifle the yearning, to bury the lines between platonic/romantic love in a pit to lay flowers atop

yet it was in a new flame she found that same tenderness in, this time navigating unfamiliar spaces between admiration/attraction
quietly and unassumingly it burned in one-sided flickers until it eventually fizzled out in smoke when they moved 2 hours away
but from the smoke arose a lingering longing for the same thrill of the playful back-and-forth, sneaking glances like a secret
alone, she slowly understands what she had not known before, piecing her feelings together as a sexually confused dr.frankenstein
little weeds started to bloom once more in the backyard, until she heard from a friend of a friend that they were back in town again

after a long year spent coming to terms with herself, her mind wanders to what if they had never gone / if they stayed all along
birds whispered that there was more to the story than she knew, but she knows she wanted there to be something more
or was it just the copious amounts of self-deluded coping mechanisms she surrounded herself with to forget?
perhaps she hoped the pining might lead her someplace exciting, where she could give in and let them lead the way across for once
but temptation risks stepping into the unfamiliar and she seems content not wanting to let go of the comforts of speculation, fantasy
even more so, how could she know what a woman's reciprocity looked like if she had never been subject to it before?
thoughts about sapphic panic, and (un)/requited crushes. feeling (and being?) unfaithful *****, and trying to explain it but coming off as rationalizing unfaithfulness even moreso. is it misplaced bisexuality or compulsory heterosexuality? poly curiosity or being bad at monogamy? you decide. this feels unfinished because it is. we don't know what happens next because it's an ongoing saga. listened to angel olsen while writing this.
cleobug Sep 2021
hand on the divine
your curves, like italian marble
body as a work of art

not just a woman but a goddess
and i'm down on my knees

watermelon lingering on your tongue
i lap it up in waves
end Sep 2021
i wanna kiss your face
take me back to your place
my mother will never know
oh oh oh
i'm afraid i'm gonna like kissing your girlfriend more than you
i'm afraid she's gonna find out that i wanna be used by you too
i'm afraid you'll hate me hanging around
i hate the sound of my own sounds
and i hate how your feelings drown me
and thoughts of you surround me
in the best possible way
i've never been one for fate
but there you are
still standing by me
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