Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Apr 2022 ari
luca
there is fire licking at your
      calves. tongue hot
      and heavy (taste me
      where my soul ends and
      my heart begins, i think
      you tell me. find the places
      hidden to even my eyes,
      a prayer, a whisper).

-

AFTERTHOUGHT: i can shift the heft of the sky and its sire onto my shoulders, shape them into wings under your gaze, let them watch the fire like you watch a ritual (it burns with ancient fury, older than my words could ever dream).
idk what this is
gay ????? as hell???? like me wow
 Apr 2022 ari
lex hughes
the moon
 Apr 2022 ari
lex hughes
i quietly hope after years of despair,
that one night the moon herself will bless me,
will she come down from the celestial eternity,
and take me in her cosmic arms,
will she love me the way i love her,
or will she vanish like the night's dream?
this is about being sad and sapphic lol
 Apr 2022 ari
wren
she is wrapped in the most beautiful linen

white silks

moonlit satin

a soft figure enveloped by their beauty

delicate hands

groomed fingernails

dark eyes

wet hearts

her power takes my breath away

i look up and


she is no longer a pseudonym

she is only the moon

i finally let you go
she was always herself, now i see her beauty
 Apr 2022 ari
Chelsea Bacci
Eden
 Apr 2022 ari
Chelsea Bacci
my lover twirls grace and beauty
between her fingertips
her golden hair gleams like sunlight
and her breath flows like wind
i can liken her to flowers
but they hold no candle to her
she moves like a river
gentle, slow, and flowing
i understand now the desire
that Eve had that day in Eden
aching to feel the sweet nectar
flow down her chin and to her breast
wanting to taste what she never could have
and, God, did it feel good.
 Apr 2022 ari
M L Soo
You melted
in my hands
and then I
drank you up.
Now you've
turned, to
ice and stone
-and I
can't help
but choke.
 Apr 2022 ari
Amanda Newby
I am soft-hearted,
And Sapphic.
But she is not a human girl
Anymore.

Every time I lay her to rest,
She rises
Like a phoenix.
Or a zombie.

She is soft-bodied.
Empty-headed.
Empty-hearted.

She is rotten to me.
All memory of her,
Warm woman,
Is gone now.
Her body is a dead thing.
A shell, only good for gutting.

My heart is spilling.

My insides are gooey.
They slip between other girl's hands-
Repulsive.
Hazardous.
A lost cause.

My heart is a terminal case.

Until it's replaced,
I am all robot.

Hard-bodied.
Hard-headed.
Empty-hearted.

Every girl
Who gives me the kiss-of-life
Is cursed.

I search for a shell
To put my dead into.

But she is in cahoots
With the rotted.

All I want
Is a soft-hearted girl
To lay with.

To lay me down
To rest.

To love to death.
 Apr 2022 ari
B Condon
You, clipped little fragments
divided and crumbled
as the asymmetrical pinions
of the Winged Samothrace,
I spoke “****** soft spoken”
unedited, fluid, effortless,
aroused by Fortune
and I was christened
within rapture, your creator’s
“poisoned wounds” and “secret pains”
electrifying my heart and mind
inspiring such a preface
such a volatile violet passion
and I am moved by this color
by this flower
by this name
those fragrances still pouring
centuries after decimated
marble, demolished syllables
slaughtered by gender or genius
status or progression
(Instantaneously after five years of having lessons in the Greek language, English expatriate and poet Renee Vivien began to translate Sappho’s works into Sappho: A New Translation with Greek Text (1903) consecrating the ****** inhabitant back into her original Aeolian name, Psappha.)

“Renee Vivien begins her work with a Preface and a biographical note in which she seeks to introduce two images of Sappho: the Poetess and the ‘lesbian.’ In order to celebrate the first, Renee Vivien masculinizes Sappho with an expression which constructs her as an alter ego of a male poet […] (“The work of the divine Poet makes one think of the Victory of Samothrace, opening to  the infinite her mutilated wings”). The comparison invites the reader to visualize the famous statue of the female Greek god of Victory, an imposing second-century BC Parian marble sculpture generally  regarded as a masterpiece of Hellenistic art […]. The choice of this female statue can be explained by its mutilated wings which can offer a symbolic counterpart to the fragments of (mutilated) Sappho’s work.” (Wyles, Rosie; Edith Hall.  Women Classical Scholars: Unsealing the Fountain from the Renaissance to Jacqueline de Romilly. 2016)

https://bcondonbard.wordpress.com/2017/03/02/preface-to-sappho-1903/
 Apr 2022 ari
qi
the laddering of my ribs creak
like water-stained cherrywood stairs;
tread lightly, lest you
stir the dust and the ghosts
that dwell underfoot,
‘neath the cracked floorboards
of my skin.

i have but a simple request:
               rid yourself of your lungs
               and fill up the empty spaces
               with used coffee filters,
               crinkled wrapping paper, and
               forlorn hope. do
cast aside
               the shroud of indecision?, for
               that winding sheet will only
               hold you down between
               your shoulderblades, like
               framed butterflies pinned on paper
               with needles of stone and salt.

stay with me tonight.
we will be taxidermy birds
on marionette strings
with crumbled concrete
between our talons,
the afterimages
of neon diner signs
stamped into our inner eyelids
oscillating, phantasmic.

we'll sing elegies in spring
rock sugar on our tongues—
               there are staves of music
               written in the lining of your mouth
               and in the webbing of your hands
––as Sappho might say:
girls, sweetvoiced.

oh! but to think
that the starfire in your eyes
could be extinguished
by the tears you shed;
i’ll return my heart to the constellations
for you
posting content??? in MY account?????? it's more likely than you think
 Apr 2022 ari
Sappho
I took my lyre
 Apr 2022 ari
Sappho
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
 Apr 2022 ari
Sappho
Anactoria
 Apr 2022 ari
Sappho
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure

Even in Sardis
Anactoria will think often of us

of the life we shared here, when you seemed
the Goddess incarnate
to her and your singing pleased her best

Now among Lydian women she in her
turn stands first as the red-
fingered moon rising at sunset takes

precedence over stars around her;
her light spreads equally
on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom

Delicious dew pours down to freshen
roses, delicate thyme
and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders

aimlessly, thinking of gentle
Atthis, her heart hanging
heavy with longing in her little breast

She shouts aloud, Come! we know it;
thousand-eared night repeats that cry
across the sea shining between us
Next page