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~
From the initial dawning

lithium sky met infernal waters

and it all went awry

the light of happiness

constituted halos

leaving intimate words

paperclipped, tongue-tied

and love bruises

upon inner thigh

the wellspring enveloped

char and holm

with faint kissed alkali

abating the stormy umbrage

as if a softly whispered lullaby

and suddenly along this watermark

only you, me

and the need to multiply

~
One night
I was a werewolf,
but that got out of hand.
One night
you were a peach,
but I preferred fresh
over canned.

The blood scent was strong
and on your collar,
or was it spaghetti sauce?
We meandered in
the lost city of angels,
but those women
in the maternity ward
were better shape-shifters.

Couldn't see if the moon
was full against
the polluted skyline,
(but I bet it wasn't).

Then somewhere
down the tracks,
the howler (that's you),
half a dream away
on some deserted block,
and flat on your back
like a pancake,
with the nightmares
stacking up,
and dripping
with strawberry syrup.

Or was it blood?
(I bet it wasn't).
 Dec 2020 Spriha Kant
breeze
it takes a tiny moment
an ephemeral blink
for such a bizarre comet
change time with novel ink.

it takes a sparkling feeling
a minor flash of chance
for such a little healing
turn life into a dance.
Nostalgia is a longing for a person or a place that evokes happy memories.  Its an  
Oasis for the soul that harbors in the center of our hearts and draws us back to the
Safe haven of our most sacred places.  It contains the pull of an all familiar feeling;        
Territorial as a tug boat in the sea  it has the ability to transport us without notice
Across the miles of our present, into the deep abyss of our past.  It is often said that
Love is always remembered by the way it made us feel, and places by their scent;  
Granny's peppermint candies and mother's garlic sauce, are two precious memoirs    
I often go back to my first teachers  and lose myself in recollection of home. It was  
An era of youthful abandon.  Golden days full of spirited living and so much love.
 Dec 2020 Spriha Kant
Betty
Turnstone
Tumbled by the tide, over and over
Washed by rolling waves
Polished by the shifting sand
Dried out by the winter sun
That shiny pebble in your hand
What a life!
 Dec 2020 Spriha Kant
Taylor
The stars don’t feel
They just exist
without regard for you
or your perception of them
They are raw energy
explosive chaos
bound only to the cold grip of
Time
Free of their shackles
they unleash hell
ancient flames
devouring worlds
that you will never know
or care
existed

Beyond your sight
the apocalypse means
nothing
From a distance
the universe is pretty
And our little star
shines on
a beacon of safety
warm and comfortable
until one day
it isn’t
Fire and mortar
Dust to dust
The sky stained red
From ashes and rust
The flames reach new heights.
They lick the sky,
Burning new trenches.
I wish I could say why.
The emotion I  feel for you
Is gentle
Oozing with warmth
And love.
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