Month: December 2019

Picasso’s

when my soul is dry

its likened to float

to where it remembers you

for some days it forgets

those darkened dreamer eyes

those softly loud saucers

painting Picasso’s with a blindfold

its in the tiny little things

that hold you

like the bird today

that i’m certain was wearing a top hat

tap dancing to my ears

demanding i look up

perched there

in his morning solo

but it wasn’t he, no

it was the horizon in this tilt

i’m certain meant for me

and my soul again wet

for there in silent show

were those eyes winking back at me

orphaned dreams wandering

in every hue you painted

waiting to be plucked

sanctum

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beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

for it is there

among borrowed ears

the cadence of you,

of i

falls freely

beneath blooming arms, those towering magic wands

those leaves, an artistic blend of hues

lent by the color of our words

birthed from our woes, our joys

now drip dropping in tiny doses

a repertoire of moments

gifts caressed from our swollen lips

beneath this our found sanctum

a secret place, a perfect hiding spot

where treasured scribing

and whispers in the wind

hold a love affair in soft reverie

infused within the veins of its hollow

beyond distances they traveled

weathered testaments of time

reaching for the sun

how they glow

how it flows

upwards

outwards

reflecting within

beneath our tree

where my lungs come back to me

thaw

screenshot_2016-05-03-07-05-14-1-1.pnga dancer,

stilled on blades of ice

collecting the rhythm to a symphony of breaths far below

for she,

with eyes resistant to a world

can find such a place as barren as she

to power

to ignite

forgotten steps thawed in the dance

silent little daggers

to her breast with fire they stake

wanting simply to be remembered

simply seen

simply undressed

in she

 

 

once upon a time

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a manic moon

she bleeds the night

 

jealous of the stars

that play hide and seek

too far to reach

from she

perched there

upon her hour glass

 

stones rise from shallow graves

chasing

chasing

no sandman in sight

 

stones laughing

chasing

chasing

perfect pitch

dead center

each one sticks

 

a manic moon

she bleeds the night

jealous of the stars

drunk on her light