Don’t allow grey skies to dampen your hair,
soak up your shirt,
seep into your
socks.

Let the tears fall if they brew under-lid,
saltwater
cleanses and
soothes.

Don’t stay up late ‘til the birds start to talk,
spreading secrets
you don’t need to
hear.

Smoke always rises and wind blows you sideways-
even gorse ****
has bright yellow
bloom.

Interesting
A little flower
Dried and flakey
Contained in a pouch
Plopped into water
And that’s it
That seemed to do the trick
Maybe all I needed
Was a nice cup of tea

Smooth, strong, deep, therapeutic.
Hands playing on my skin like a virtuoso pianist.
Stroking, kneading, pressing.

With every stroke, his hands melt my stress.
Sooth my pains, physical and mental.
My anxiety fades. My mind rests.
Stroking, kneading, pressing.

His hands are sensual.
His eyes are closed, so his hands move on their own.
No distractions. Just natural. Instinctive.
Stroking, kneading, pressing.

I’m open and vulnerable, self conscious.
But his hands even sooth my flaws, and imperfections.
Press against places I keep covered.
Unflattering angles I would rather keep hidden,
But somehow his hands seem to find beauty even in that.
Stroking, kneading, pressing.

Dang....the hour is up.

petrichor is to VX
as temporary is to eternity
for a long sleep
is considered 'la petit mort'

let it pour down the porcelain
stitching
of thy hollow carcass


cold, shivering,
along with
the music of my teeth,
tattering

to calm is to wait for precipitation.

and I want it so bad.

flowing hair,
crowned with white and
yellow flowers
by boredom now
entangled by the summer breeze
I wear a dress,
and upon my thighs
is a book,
stained with my now drying tears.

my dimples gleam in the bright sun,
my heart as pure and light
as the white dogs tumbling
playfully around me
serenity in my heart,
you on my mind,
this is how it should be.

Turn the sea upside down
Love can do it.

Light the night with warmth
Love can do it.

Move the mountain with a stroke
Love can do it.

Fill the storm with soothing music
Only love can do it!

The dark shortly settles after sunset,
Such makes the world become a colder but gentle place for the tired souls to rest,
Another cycle ends, but today a night supposedly covered in stars whom bathe the galaxy with their magnificence and light are nowhere to be seen,
Devoid of all but an affable drizzle the wind howls in sorrow,
The last flame and its ember hiss at this change, unwelcoming the loss of their brilliance and luminosity, the passion and energy,
A tired pen recording these events snaps its feather,
For, casting lacking words onto decaying paper would do no justice,
Bittersweet memories, immortalized beneath these pages, are in no means lost, even after departure,
Hoping to spark a light for those who seek to read them,
Until finally, a whole new cycle begins,
And the dawn brings back the light,
To this abyssal void.

~ Umi