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#mypoeticside
In the white theatre of the gale, a barn’s vermilion gates and the woolen scarlet of kin stand like beacons to the lost. The air is a script of whirling ash, yet in the hearth’s small kingdom rosehip constellations drift through the dark gold sea of tea — omens of return, of warmth wrested from the storm’s dominion. .
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Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 2:44 AM UTC
a storm’s dominion
Stay with Me Your touch is arson in my bones Melting steel, surrendering throne Choose: my chaos or endless night Either way, love — you’re my excruciating light .
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Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 9:18 PM UTC
stay with me
Hair like weather, clothes like a hearth — I hold the street open and let its poems walk past. .
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Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC
by the street corner
The years have grown moss over my name, my transgression carved into memory’s vestibule always finding there one chair turned away, its back carved with the shape of your absence. .
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Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:11 AM UTC
shape of your absence