the waltz of your lips
where time is a borrowed thing
slender are the strings
borrow: a haiku
Author: jennyhayut
aeon
to wake and find
the ocean in exhale
in the aeon of you
stroking me bare,
in this our
incandescent lair
the sweetest,
my sweetest
love
affair
changes: a haiku
changes drift beneath
the river sleeps in my hands
lotus speaks in tongues
refuge : a haiku
highlights in refuge
as autumn drapes her fancy
in succulent hues
let us slumber
let us slumber in the moonlight of our mind
where feathers drift with honeyed dreams in the quiver of breath before a dawn
then sail upon what it is we may find
let us slumber in the brewing of loons
beneath camomile leaves and northern winds crawling
let us make our own cocoon
let us slumber in twilight’s cloak
in essence of birds in flight
ne’er weary of our path
straddling the sway of our yoke
let us slumber in crescent moon
where love bathes softly
breathing swiftly more
in a summer heat where we forever swoon
listen to me read let us slumber
park bench
that park bench
when the world fell still,
my legs wrapped about you
your whispers,
beguiling my will
buttons undone
the scent of her call
to the moon
she is enthralled
the narrows
let us linger
let us crawl
in the crush of the waves
betwixt bare channels
of aching oaks and mountain veins
my rain, my rain
where my sensuality and spirit meditate
in the narrows of you
skip: a haiku
read me a story
only skip to the last page
where it all began
Doors are a subject I love taking pictures of not only in appreciation of their architecture, but for the dreamer in me that can’t help but imagine up worlds lingering behind every one I stumble upon. What is beyond that half open door beseeching me a closer look? The beginning of a most fantastical journey. Happily ever afters just waiting for our steps…
Below are images I’ve captured of various doors over the years. They range from a small church yard in Morristown, New Jersey to the historic streets of Old Jaffa in Israel. No matter the location, doors have always been a muse to my imagination.
deep in my earth
deep in my earth your words survive
there beneath
the ageless,
the night,
the moon’s silkened eyes
deep in my earth your words oh how they stroke
a palace of blues,
of grays,
of an artist reborn
as a lover awoke
deep in my earth your words ebb and flow
with the traveler,
the siren
that wanders within and along
our glass spun chateau