"rumbles" poems
They ask me if I still love you.
I blush, grin and say;
of course.
Why?
Because your eyes are of the most utter ocean blue,
but other days they're the currents of the stormy grey sea.
I see a current of salty water, deep, once blue, but now a faded grey.
I see a bundle of darkened grey clouds in the distance,
and the thunder rumbles from your irises,
and I hear it pound in the back of my mind.
I wonder if you knew.
I see a spark of lightening flash, only once in a while,
while you look at her.
My throat corrodes with bile.
She says she sees green demons lurking in the depth of my own ocean currents,
and I shrug.
What am I supposed to say?
I know you think about her.
Night and day.
The hardest part,
is a generic, old saying.
If you love them,
you let them go.
If they love you enough to stay,
or to come back,
you never let go.
But you haven't come back.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 12:15 AM UTC
Upon the dark night, striking three;
A tick representing each step in time,
but time overwhelmed by a trinity
of peace, and a plan greater than one's wildest dreams.
As the trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
a bird sings unto the dark night her song, unique, sweet, and free-spirited
Another beauty upon the night, a tulip,
blossoming, not fully grown, in admiration of this free spirit, the bird.
The tulip observes from a distance the song the bird sings
A praise, a never ending thankfulness
"Thank You for the trees,
Thank You for the waves,
And thank You for me," the bird sings.
In awe of the song bird, the tulip longs to grow, to blossom, to fly, to sing;
Oh, the joy, the praise, the song she'll bring
when fully grown to exemplify her thanks to the three
But, Hold! The clock ticking three, a breath He takes.
The songs of beauty the bird once sang
are silenced more than a whisper
Oh, dear, wilting Tulip; she wonders,
"Why?" she misunderstands, "Why has the bird's song been hushed?"
Oh, so joyful with praise, the songs she sang,
but now unto another Audience, unheard by the flower;
However, the sun rises, the flower realizes,
A new day is upon her. The trees clap their praises unto a summer wind, and
Waves flood the skies with their roaring rumbles of exaltation,
Just like any other day.
Partaking in full bloom overnight, grown, she hears the call of three:
You're unique, sweet, and your free-spirit will sing,
for the steps of time past quicker than the steady rhythm of that clock ticking
Fly free, song bird,
Your legacy will only grow sweeter with time
As the bloom of a tulip smiles and praises the One unto which your song once thrived.
Feb 25, 2018
Feb 25, 2018 at 2:08 PM UTC
Struggles come and struggles go
annihilate each, together with its' bearer
regardless if he identifies himself as friend or foe
Struggle aims at destruction, and drives you to the floor
Remain resilient and savior respiration,
for struggle conquering techniques, you shall soon know
Struggle fails, yet departs having left a mark
For light to shine brightest, we must first experience the dark
Embrace your struggles, your battles and daily rumbles
For they are fueling you for success, and struggle is your spark
Apr 25, 2014
Apr 25, 2014 at 9:19 AM UTC
your voice
rumbles in my head.
the way
you said my name.
the breath
passing your lips.
one word,
my name,
was all it took.
** my soulmate.**
Sep 24, 2013
Sep 24, 2013 at 2:38 PM UTC
breathing the turquoise like lavender,
and sipping the blue summer.
bitter cold clouds glide and morph lava lather,
floating whispers cut by sweet pineapple sunshine.
soon, a moment, now
rhythms ripple the sky like skipping stones
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
cobalt bass rumbles the earth hungry,
pumps the air with springing spirals
pushing and pulling the senses,
reverberating through cells.
heavy mud humming, stomping
echoes through our atoms dizzy;
balancing tuned body to innate electricity
the fizz of circulating lemonade energy.
we jump the music like puddles
splashing in the frequencies.
strawberry melodies spilling ribbons,
dolphin leaps of the spaces inbetween beats,
lines of colours overlapping,
colliding, mixing, merging, blending
in with the forest.
washing over souls the life fire sparkles
like a clear water cleansing harmonies,
sound waves crashing against inertia.
phosphorescent glow of re-charged love
for the world, for being, animation
flowing through burnt smoky ashes
of sapphire charcoal skies;
dimmed radiation of chlorophyll emerald days.
the smell of salt, dry bark, fluffy carbon mists,
trembling lights softening the eyes'
grip on outlines, loosening lies.
watching the cycles of patterns
tumbling colours through a mill rotating,
and the silence of listening
when the music comes to an end.
May 4, 2018
May 4, 2018 at 8:19 PM UTC
when the moon has finally succumbed to the flirtatious will of night
and even stars grow weary of guarding peaceful slumbers
the sneaky temptress twilight makes her move and slithers through my window
as she glides into my bed, I can tell she is up to her old tricks
my eyes forget to close and my mind forgets to sleep
the darkened outlines of my room crumble as each breath escapes my lips
and now I remember where I've hidden you, blue eyed boy
how strange a sensation to remember your body
a rekindled sullen mood
your arms are a heavy warmth against my waist
and your legs are clumsy giants that wrestle with mine all night
yes, this is how it feels when your cheek nuzzles the nape of my neck
and even here, your breathing rumbles like a storm rolling out to sea
Your heavy exhales compose a sensual melody as each crescendo crashes against my clavicle
I'm at the mercy of your lingering shadow
I'm the casualty of the pressure in this room
I want to stop breathing because I feel that I could make love to you
in the blackened air my hands trace out your handsome face
and place two gems for your brilliant eyes
and caress the sharp angles of your cheek
your lips were delicate so I use only my right hand
I'd give myself to you so honestly this time
but here, loneliness slowly swells your lungs
a tar that coats the lining of your throat
you are a cruel asphyxiation brought on by the mystic twilight herself
but her ruse won't last forever
I'll drift off into the sweet solace of sleep
and ponder on how you love me more
when my bed is empty, blue eyed boy
Sep 13, 2012
Sep 13, 2012 at 12:50 AM UTC
I love your eyes.
Wet, filled with desire.
I love them most when they stare back into mine.
Not a word needs to be said.
A breath between us two,
Each craving met, my eyes trailing yours.
The way they bend shut when your legs stretch out
and your arms wrap around me.
The natural curling of toes
When your eyes widen before closing tight.
I love looking into your eyes.
This feel good feeling that interrupts each kiss.
A gasp filled behind closed eyes.
A roaring ****** that rumbles behind them.
The arch felt across the small of your back.
Bridging the gap of a swaying bridge.
Your body in the comfort of my hands.
A soft kiss below your temple.
Welcoming your shyness.
Those eyes that follow the movement of your head.
I love the way you look at me and bite your bottom lip.
Welcoming the audience of my eyes.
Catching every glimpse,
Not a thought held back behind those eyes.
Our passion held between us two.
Lost in the rumble of how your body trembles.
Over and over,
Until your fast asleep
Dec 31, 2018
Dec 31, 2018 at 11:20 AM UTC
The mirrior is my adversary.
My eyes variance, what others don't see.
To the word I'm adequate, crowning , spotless, and skilled
Every morning I wake up, get ready and cover my lips in red majestic mac
Red lipstick seems to illuminate confidence in the eyes of many,
but to me it is merely a pigmented shield of secrets.
Humorous isn't it?
Every unmarred life, seeks to relive its pigments
Fears, self-doubt, imperfection.
Mirror, mirror, mirror on the wall..
Who's the thinnest of them all...
The sound of battle rumbles
Conscious at wrists ends
Bawling in me
Fat,
Fat,
Fat,
Yours tricks are foul, you tauntful mind
Vision is blurred from reality,
Oh mind how you love to frolic
Your sheer joys leave me unpieced,
The snickering of my mirror,
Damages my frame.
Sorrowing fades my red lipstick
Pigments revealed,
Vulnerable,
Unworthy,
Marred to the bone
Quickly I learned that the mind is the enemy, filled with con
Staring in my mirror and all I see is fat.
Red lipstick always seems to fade by the end of the night.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 10:16 PM UTC
Today, we woke again,
nestled
in our sheets and covers.
Our limbs were tangled
with utmost comfort in
Our usual, beautiful,
morning snuggle.
Sometimes, I fear
that I will be taken in our dreams,
and I won't wake to hear
your parted-lips-and-nose-rumbles.
But today, we woke again,
clinging
in each other's arms for warmth,
Our sleepy stares struggle,
to stay open in
Our usual, beautiful,
morning snuggle.
And I know
that this is exactly how
I'd like to wake again
tomorrow.
in Our usual, beautiful,
morning snuggle.
Apr 16, 2014
Apr 16, 2014 at 1:06 PM UTC
i kept my hatches battened but that
didn't stop your love from barreling toward me
like a runaway freight train with faulty breaks.
and god almighty, did we crash.
you came to a screeching halt at my doorstep
and i didn't know what else to do but let you in.
you looked so cold. we did not start with a spark but a full-on fire.
i told myself i wouldn't fall, instead i jumped.
our sinking frames somehow morphed into life preservers,
and we managed to keep each other's heads above the waves.
we had seemingly saved one another.
you tossed your pills, i flushed my razors, and for a while that was enough.
but we learned the hard way that even the deepest love
can only keep the storm clouds in your mind at bay for so long.
eventually our cracks began to show.
missed calls and silent hours built houses of cards
that were blown down by too many miles.
we hardly ever smiled anymore.
my hands were sieves and yours were sand.
i want to break the hands of the clock
that cursed us with this bad timing.
i have mourned all the hours i won't ever have with you.
i have felt the thunder that rumbles in my lungs
when i reminisce about the memories we'll never make.
the moment i realized i would never wake up beside you
an atom bomb went off in the center of my chest.
but the radiation is what's killing me.
the life is being drained from me here in the wake,
in the ache of your absence. but i won't beg.
i will live out the remainder of my days
tormented by wondering if maybe in another world
our love is perfect and neither of us bleed.
- m.f.
Jan 12, 2014
Jan 12, 2014 at 3:27 AM UTC
please, i beg you, take care of yourself. when your stomach rumbles, eat. when your eyelids droop, sleep. and when your voice quivers, find a comfortable spot and cry, cry your little heart out. but when you're done, dry your eyes, occupy yourself, and know in your heart that you are better than that. do not be sad, be angry. become a roaring fire and burn the memory of all those who have wronged you.
do not let the leaky faucets **** you. do not drown in a bucket of tears. light it on fire. pour it out. throw it. scream **** you" to sadness because you are so much better than it.
let it out, let it out, let it out, then be done.
because yes love, right now your sadness feels quite heavy but the truth is that it is just a paperweight. learn to turn the page.
Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 9:32 PM UTC
though deep he sleeps sometimes,
combining this exhaustive restorative
of old age, that alternates with a restlessness
rest of old age ~ the brain's nightly self-cleansing,
both necessities absolute
so he be unsurprised, by a parallel process,
occurring beside him, as woman rumbles, mumbles,
all the while reenacting the things we dare not acknowledge
in the waking hours, much too painful, much to fearfully real unreal,
but, best unrealized
she bolts upright, looks around, attempting to cross back,
looking, investigating, ascertaining time and place, localizing
her orientation, while assessing external+imagined dreamt threats,
till satisfied sufficient that whatever dreamt, realized or dreamisized,
before, going prone once-more
the watch man observes, the critical threat level, doesn't
approach the red line, not requiring hands-on interventions,
and relieved, that she has expunged and expelled the mind's many
molecules of memories, true or false, real or revisionary, making clean
white tissued neuron+cell for the morrow
and thus he reminds himself, that he be watch man, observing, uninterfering, is too, is also, a definitive infinite
only love poetry
Jul 29, 2025
Jul 29, 2025 at 6:59 PM UTC
I am an italicized remark,
your spicy punctuation;
I am your steamy satisfaction,
your permanent vacation.
A unique innuendo,
a read between the lines;
I am a story like no other
as I lick between your thighs.
from Cosmo,
The New Yorker;
A romantic gentleman lover.
A sweet wine you taste-test
and lick around my lips,
I am a kiss you can't resist-
a naked sweat, a seductive bliss.
I am the palm that stings the skin,
a ***** spank than burns within.
I am a moaning, seeping ******
that rumbles with percussion.
I am your emphasized description
although no adjective does justice.
Jul 21, 2010
Jul 21, 2010 at 8:08 AM UTC
Her eyes shine like undisturbed dew drops
hovering at the gentle fingertips of young moss
on the northern bark of a white cedar tree
under a lazy morning sun.
Spear points of obsidian pierce the disc:
banished from the core of a volcano
scorched by a molten heart
and choking on onyx soot.
The dawn warmth filters through,
carried by a serene and wafting breeze.
It illuminates the pleasant, tickling greenery,
bringing to light the depth of her irises.
Fire belches from the mountain's stomach,
and the flame ignites a gleam.
Her gemstone eyes shine
as though the embers have been captured within.
At the base, there is the earth:
firm and dark and cool.
Interlocking underbrush layers fawn with chestnut
overtaken but not undermined by powerful streaking tree trunks.
The rim is built of force and rumbles with strength.
A cast of bronze is seething and glowing.
Her intensity blazes as sun spots
deep within ancient amber.
She is as her eyes are
an indigo inferno:
seldom
and
elegantly alive.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 3:07 AM UTC
You carve a doll out of wax and curse it with voodoo.
Candles in the sun burn with her soft skin.
Oh, she is hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.
But you don't want them to know-
the pleasure of watching her melt.
You think she was stolen
and passed around,
so you stick nails in her heart.
Pity takes your soul and the bit of it
you put into her hole.
Plugged with metal against your wall.
Hold a lighter to her chest.
Bleed her out.
Keep her hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.
Don't leave your toys out again.
Practice voodoo every day.
You imagine
her nose growing,
her eye glowing
with malice.
Hold the lighter to her face.
She's lost her head.
She still has lovely legs
part them to taste fear.
Don't want her to run away.
Hold the lighter to her feet.
Her tummy rumbles
with lust.
Silence it.
Leave her hot. Hot. Hot. Hot.
Voodoo master
but what good are you?
You own nothing but wax puddles.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 7:46 PM UTC
Today heard I a train,
while I smoke my cigarette, I heard a train.
The rumbles came trundling over mossing steel street bars,
the hooves of an iron horse shattering glass floors-
pebbles bickering like stone woodpeckers on the grounds to come.
The wind shudders,
and apologizes for the frost on the leaves,
the cracks in the ground and the holes in the sky,
my cigarette part blur,
awkwardness so comfortable,
this plastic train i recreate,
moments in-between,
where we lay down to day-listen.
The kinsmen that forgot call blacksmith,
scared with his welded skin,
protection in battle,
drunken dichotomy,
a hero ***** dans l’amour.
As great the fall of king, the fall of next in line.
The only thing to have moved quicker with age, time.
Lest we forget, the blacksmith here reside;(unfinished)
While the angel hath walk,
with long grey and black web moth wings,
stalking its sleeping prey,
his eyes wide open back,
watching the angel pace,
infesting the air with despicable knots,
its dangerous to stare,
but a contest never started is a contest never won,
and into the eyes of hell the blacksmith hast stared-
to the foot of his bed.
Where a three headed dog flap its ice wings to keep hell cold.
These nights in particular had been an awful one, and again the tapping, again the train.
Nov 29, 2012
Nov 29, 2012 at 1:24 AM UTC
*Between the night and daylight,
As twilight begins to shower,
Comes a lull in the day's preparations,
Cherished as the Kittys' Hour.
I hear in the kitchen beside me,
The patter of tiny feet,
Rumbles of varying motors
With "meow's" gentle and sweet.
Leaping from counter with agile grace
On my shoulder with a purr;
Sail grave Thomas and sweet Lady Jane,
And Susan of golden fur.
A "meow," and then a long silence,
I know by mischievous eyes,
They are scheming and musing together,
To vanquish my weary sighs.
With sudden dash from the hallway,
Tortie bounds into my arms!
Felines of all colours sit starring,
Delighting me with their charms.
Frolicking with skillful ease,
Tossing and batting their catnip-mouse;
If I run to escape, they surround me,
They appear to overflow the house.
Suffocating me with their kisses,
Furry paws patting my face;
And though they have torn the kitchen blinds,
They dazzle me with their grace.
I hug you all close in loving arms,
And will n'er let you depart,
Nor ****** you dears out to coyotes,
For you each have won my heart.
And here shall you dwell forever,
Cherished more each golden day;
Till this glad house fall into ruin,
And I in dust shall decay.*
~Hilda~
Oct 31, 2012
Oct 31, 2012 at 3:07 AM UTC
dandelion eyes, rose petal lips
counting down the seconds until our next kiss
like rolling thunder, impatience rumbles through me
because even wrapped in your arms, I finally feel free
the time passes as slow as the color of your skin
honey, sweet, honey… oh, how I yearn to drink you in
and as the sun sets on yet another lonely night
I delight in the way it peeks through the blinds
rays of gold shimmer in, finding rest upon my cheek
all I feel is your warmth and on my heart, havoc wreaks
for even in this golden hour — the time that reminds me most of you — eons will pass before I am once again close to you
Aug 15, 2022
Aug 15, 2022 at 2:07 PM UTC
The arrival of the night on distant shores,
completes the cycle of relentless waning hours;
In circular repeat of day's end glories,
we softly whisper life's reflective stories.
With moonlit skies as constant company,
our feelings caught in wondrous reverie;
And love is but a boastful source of care,
when suddenly the sky grows dark and bare.
But in the swirling essence of the night,
we set about to make our memories right;
In tossing sway the rumbles of the waves,
allow us to submit to what we've craved.
Approaching dawn with sunlight from above,
finally satiated by passion's whirlwind love;
Our shadows fall like twins upon the beach,
as knowing smiles creep gently 'cross our cheeks.
Nov 11, 2016
Nov 11, 2016 at 1:55 PM UTC
The bus rumbles on,
it is an over crowded one -
not an unusual sight -
she stands in the space
reserved for women,
there's hardly any room
to breathe.
The broadcaster on radio
shows off her gift of the gab,
a popular film song follows;
a gush of wind
through the window
brings along smoke, dust
and other such components
of 'city-air'.
She looks out to see
impressive malls,
entrances to which, witness
beggars pursuing well dressed gentry,
in the hope of a penny or two;
billboards advertise
latest discount offers
appealing to her consumerist instincts;
constant honking of vehicles,
music blaring from an auto nearby -
these are common sounds
she is accustomed to.
The bus halts with a jolt,
she steps down,
tries to make her way,
through the crowd
avoiding hawkers lunging at her
from every side,
eager to make sales;
the smell of
pakodas fills the air,
autos carrying seven or eight passengers
limp away, surreptitiously,
at the sight of khaki clad men.
Out of the blue,
an elbow knocks into her chest,
she turns to look at the lout -
lecherous eyes mock at her impotent fury -
she mouths standard abuses,
walks away as if unruffled.
For this was not the first instance,
"Won't be the last either.",
she thinks at the back of her mind,
her heart chooses not to agree though.
She moves on,
pushing, shoving, cursing
her way through
'Battleground India'.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 3:08 AM UTC
When the rain comes I can't help but smile
Because its mending my cracks all the while.
When the sky rumbles I may wrap a blanket close
But the lightening is the best dose
The clouds are gray and the winds are a band of terror
I just have one wish,that this bad weather will break the mirror
Apr 2, 2014
Apr 2, 2014 at 4:35 PM UTC
Downfall she claims
Dripping in disease
Her dress ripped
Trees dying
Holes cover the seams
Tattered
Sewage covered
Disgraced
Ugly
Taking her vitality
The mass living upon her soil
Population at a high
Charging her for corruption
Her hair cut
In shambles
Uneven proportioned
Greed is the man in lead
Unfairly held to shame
Her belly rumbles
Earthquakes
Crack her skin
Aching
Oozing her blood
Tsunamis wiping out existence
She violently
Throws tantrums
A twister destroying houses
Seeking attention
Under validated
Unnoticed for exotic jungle humanity
Innocence
Her music lifts
The mountain breeze
Sagebrush rustles
Birds whisper
Squirrels leaping
Her captivating body sings
Weak man made her break
Small art gone
Ice caps melting into the abyss
Taking scraps
Leftover bits
Her soul
Missing
Stipping her clothing
******* her gold
Her shirt selfishly torn
Naked she became
Her animals hungry
Oceans sickened
Our anguish
Is revenge
Knocked out
She's becoming manipulated belief
She's in debt to the population
Mother will reclaim
Her dynasty
We the people will be left
In emptiness
May 11, 2016
May 11, 2016 at 8:29 PM UTC
I used to feel stress as some others do
I’d cry and pout and usually eat the stress away
Gaining 5, 10, 15 pounds in the process
But at what point does stress become too much?
Phase 1- Normal
A little stress
But less than should cause concern
Take a quick pause and breath
Till you feel fully awake and ready to handle the whole deal that is worrying you
Eating pattern: Normal
Phase 2- Intermediate
More substantial stress
Quite the mess inside the mind
Especially in an unkind situation
Eat a little more than normal for the sake of taking away the thought of the problem
Make a list and stick to it to reduce the impact
Don’t place the fist to the wall yet
Eating pattern: Calories increased by 25-40%
Phase 3- High
Stress has reached its max
Like a leach ******* the life away
Mind trying to stray from the food or the situation
But somehow falling pray to both
Like a host for a parasite
Eating pattern: Compromised. Calories increased by 60-75%
Phase 4- Immense
Stress too high to handle comfortably
Functional human abilities begin to cease
Like a paralyzing disease
Lies like not feeling well begin to find their way into play through each and every day
Not only is the issue stressful but the thought of eating becomes impossible
Now more problems creep in with the deep dive swim of an eating disorder side show
Eating pattern: Crippling loss of appetite. Calories decreased by 90%
I digress to address the source of my stress
A world I thought I knew and had nothing left to do but ride the wind with my sweetheart
But things fall apart yet the world still spins and at the end of the day the side I’m fearful of wins
And now I’m alone and scared of what’s next I just sit here with empty stomach rumbles hoping for your text
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 12:40 AM UTC
I skip, across a streaming, upon random~laid
flat and comfortable flat flagstone stepping stones,
from poet to poet, color to color, poem to poem,
Auden to Whitman, Schuyler to
myself, a dingaling notion, an errant word,
the here to there, all randoms, yet,
oval chain linked all,
a question posed, an answer unknown,
a reference to an old Italian myth,
and there, and here, a body,
comes to rest,
& also,
comes to rest…
<>
led not by the nose, but the single fingered
tip that guides across a landscape patterned
painting, lost but never a loser, each implants,
each imbibes, and the H&H^ alternatively
rumbles, pounds, vibrato burns erratically,
and the difference between a life in love,
and a life in poetry,
is not a line dividing,
but a path combining,
and the only sign
upon the road,
is never a reddened "stop!"
always just a soft lavender, so tender, inquiring,
requiring, deep thoughts and reckless abandonment,
the only guide inspired when ecstatic adrift in
a season, a sea, any one of nature's designed
unlimited
schemata's of vista creations,
is this, simply stated:
What?
<>
postscript
6:27 Sabbath Sep 27
nyc
after a sunrise glorious, where
the windows eastern facing
make an irresistible irrational
pattern of golden yellow reflecting,
mirrors, and
after reading much,
and so I too, reflect, vista, vista,
what do you see, I see…What?
after reading a poem by James Schuyler,
entitled (yes, we are)
"What"^^
Sep 27, 2025
Sep 27, 2025 at 7:47 AM UTC
When you shed that chrysalis of clothing
Releasing the dragonfly wings of your longing
Wholly among the sanctity of your skystrung ribs
Your hips gyrating on the revolutions of the moon
The astronomer in my belly burns to look up to the sky
And see you spreading yourself among the singing night
My fingers, matches skywriting
The contours of your body
With the lingerings of fire
Nails soft scratching the runes of desire
Among the hidden temples of your skin
A secret language you twistup and rumble
In like the sea swallowing a storm
Inviting me to wade in your waters
Till the lighting comes
To reunite you with the heavens
Let me lick a long crusade
From summit of spine down
The long whirling dervish of your legs
Relight wildfires only to douse them in all
The tsunami of your wet
And wash you in the convergence of thunder
As it rumbles among the fault lines of your bones
Till we rattle the pearly gates loose
And quake the caverns of hell
Grind yourself upon me into
Something so much
Sweeter then stardust
Break your body open
Into a firefly and ignite
Upon the rough embers of my wings
This friction will elicit a diction
Spoken only in vowels and the
And in the crescent arch of your spine
As we sling ourselves skyward as fireworks
To rupture open the night
Suffocate me on the whirlwind mane of your hair
There is a lioness behind those lips waiting to devour me
A sacred hunting upon moonlight to take me in the dark
Don’t you see
All of this is yours
The rumble of the earth
The heavy breath of the heavens
The match
The candle
And the sweet rush of the burn
Dec 24, 2013
Dec 24, 2013 at 8:48 PM UTC