#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.
.
Sep 16, 2025
Sep 16, 2025 at 2:44 AM UTC
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
.
Sep 7, 2025
Sep 7, 2025 at 9:18 PM UTC
Hair like weather,
clothes like a hearth —
I hold the street open
and let its poems walk past.
.
Sep 12, 2025
Sep 12, 2025 at 8:13 PM UTC
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.
.
Sep 14, 2025
Sep 14, 2025 at 4:11 AM UTC