Her eyes—Northern Lights—pulse aligns,
Violet, slow sway unseen.
Moon kneels, eclipsed beneath her thighs,
Darkness undone, her touch—unseen.

Her gasp—a solar flare’s gold rise,
Sky opens, raw, unbound.
Dawn’s first touch—her lips arise—
Sunrise I’ll chase, love I’ve found.

Waiting, scent of ozone air thickens with promises and sighs,
Watching the skyward giggling for the first drops to fall.
Wild hearts drumming, we’re ready to rise,
Wandering barefoot, bare skin fearless of it all.

Anticipation shivers beneath our fingertips,
Arms slowly reach, darkness finding our curves.
Aching, we’re eager to taste rain on lips,
Alive in the night, bodies as one, careless what observes.

Now, the rain’s rhythm is our only sound,
Naked, our hands chart each secret trace.
Need is the language our bodies have found,
Nurturing touch, we fill every empty space.

Over us, winter’s chill lingers outside,
Our bodies, skin-on-skin cocooned in down blankets so deep.
Ours is the pulse no frost can divide—
Open your eyes, love, our memories will keep.

Pre-dawn’s grey burden lapped at breast and knee,
As stroke on stroke I parted glassy deep,
To wash the burden-webs of sorrow free,
Where silent swells—that ******—my bare body keeps.

Then limbs grew light, as floating upon sleep,
I let the cool flood enter where heat hides,
Your fingers—wave on wave—caressed, discreet,
I flipped; twin peaks welcomed dawn’s crisp air, gasped, unbound.

On shore, new sun caressed my dripping skin,
When sudden grace—a butterfly, sapphire-dipped surprise—
Alighted, trembling, sipping lake’s sweetness in,
Where lake meets pulse—a moment’s nectar prize.

Then wings, whisper-thin, traced my temple’s hymn—
Hope warmed in gold; all old sorrows forever dim

Needle poised, quiet stakes its claim—
groove’s canyon hums our throat’s refrain.
Hips align to revolutions’ frame,
stylus thirsts for our track unnamed.

Crackle swells like held-breath air,
pulsing bassline where silences pair.
Bridge unwinds—our bodies dare
to etch new music spinning there.

Blinds become translucent, a veil lifts, reveals her secrets. I hover near—senses taste salt and sleep—caressing honeysuckle from last night’s vase. Its petals cling, damp with resolve.  

Freckles clustering, tracing her collarbone arcs: “the night we danced barefoot, summer’s rain.” Another, near the scar: “when the diagnosis came, and you held my hair back.”  

My mouth follows the bloom’s path, charting orbits. She shivers, laughs—sounding like tangled wind chimes. “I have no skills for flight,” I murmur against her spine, “or wings to skim the waves effortlessly, like the wind itself.”  

Her fingers discover mine, pressing the blossom’s ruin into our palms—sacraments of scars and summer rain

The room swells with scents of crushed green and confession. I count each freckle aloud—an almanac of survival—until the sun climbs higher, etching our shared legend into the day’s blank page.

The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
Your lashes flutter, closed against the light.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

My warm kisses trace your temple, all in vain,
To draw you back towards my voice, my sight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

Your skin's own scent captures sorrow's subtle stain,
A warmth receding in the morning light.
It drags you under, drowning you again. 

I smooth your hair back, feel the skin's soft grain,
Your beauty, a shadow, dim as fading starlight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.

I hold you closer, though the fractures remain,
Your body present, spirit lost to white.
It drags you under, drowning you again.

I curl beside you, listening to the rain,
And breathe you in, preparing for the fight.
The black dog's whining starts inside your pain.
It drags you under, drowning you again.