She sits, knees down,
In practiced posture.

Grounded and calm.

Her curled fingers
Rest on her thighs.

Precise.
Impervious.
Immovable.
Her own.


In her smile,
A wisp on the wings
Slowly unfurls,
In a whirl
Of wise and winding

Mischief.


As honey'd tones
Roll from her maw,
I am humbled.
Hanging.
Enchanted.
Enthralled.

Lucky to be involved.


And in her every word
There is a piece of her
Unseen,
Unheard,
But no less present.

Pure effervescence.

On all terms,
In her way,
Effortless
And pleasant.


Purposeful, she;
Spinner of tales.

Under a sullen, unloving sky,
Caught off guard by the searching rain,
She flees to shieldlike canopies.
A pilgrim on the path of shadow
Ever tethered to the flame.
Enslaved to the way of fire
Sycophant of the eternal blaze.
Condemned to spend the end of days
Wandering wastelands of the Sun,
Forever exiled from the shade.

In the darkness she would remain,
If only she would have her way.
Cocooned in shells of memory
Fogs of war,
Ill explained.
Though the forest chatter
Never quite sounds the same,
The pitter patter
Pauses,
Secrets encoded in the rain.
Her frail wings lay broken
Breath comes barely when spoken,
Offspring away upon the wind.
Though they took no time to notice
The darkness roars forth and shows us

We have our own fires to attend.

I am black lace kissed with stardust
You are brilliant, well loved, faded tie-dye
Leaving the smell of campfires, afternoon naps
fresh showers, and sleepy smiles in your wake  
Bonfire flames licking the space between our skin
Heart beat rhythms drive the music
To sway against our heartstrings
Connected.
Summer rain runs down us steaming
Feel your heat getting closer
warming my bones
melting my center
A shiver runs through me
So in tune, I pulse for you
Aching with the distance
That seems to always separate
Our good timing

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Tulips are yellow
Leaves are green
My body resembles
An expensive flower bouquet
Bruises swell
Blood collects
But my lips are sealed
Want it to end
At all costs
I'd have no regrets
A new flower is laid upon me
When I do or say something wrong
Too bad they’re
Are always so carefully placed
Almost as if to hide them
From everyone
Leaves, tulips, and violets
Are artfully arranged
On my legs, on my chest,
On my back, and on my neck
I'm wrong he's right
No use putting up a fight
I'm terrified that if I do try to fight once more
Real flowers will be laid on my grave instead of my skin
Where I will rest forevermore.