Tag Archives: self-portrait

flummox…


I am all this… and more.

there are days…

when nothing special happens…

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

the neighbours are watching…

 

Someone has to dip into something more comfortable…

 

 

 

 

 

 

manuscripts….

 My love, hear me, know this to be true:

My skin is the poetry of your touch
Our story is sung with every moan that spills from my lips
And when you come deep inside me
my name becomes a rite of passage on your soul

if…

Dear Gentle Sir,

When I say your name, my heart rumbles
much like a lion roars when it knows it’s right.
If only we could know the future, we might roar more.

xo

if freckles were lovely, and day was night
and measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie
life would be delight
but things couldn’t go right
for in such a sad plight
i wouldn’t be i

if earth was heaven and now was hence
and past was present and false was true
there might be some sense
but I’d be in suspense
for on such a pretense
you wouldn’t be you.

if fear was plucky, and globes were square
and dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
things would seem fair
yet they’d all despair
for if here was there
we wouldn’t be we.

— e.e cummings —

full as craving…

… along the creases of my softest skin.

des communs élans…

des communs élans

 

 

 

She the river that wears down stone
and makes new caves in my body
For me to crawl into and laugh and splash in
In the warm and wet and small places where there is no shame.

Electric Youth

screensaver….

Every woman I have ever loved has left her print upon me, where I loved some invaluable piece of myself apart from me — so different that I had to stretch and grow in order to recognize her. And in that growing, we came to separation, that place where work begins.

screensaver

— Audre Lorde —

i am hunger…

i am hunger 1i am hunger 2

All night you waited for morning,
all morning
for afternoon,
all afternoon for night;
and still the longing sings.

—Ruth Stone—

 

 

A taste of you slipped
into me
like moonlight in a
locked church.

—Janet Lees—

not a bird or a symbol…

not-a-bird-or-a-symbol

… a woman burning.

 

 

 

 

What ache would you deny?
I celebrate
the wax and its sun, the wingless
skeleton,    my silt      my swoon.

— Katie Longofono —

https://i1.wp.com/adissolutelifemeans.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/04/photo1.jpg?resize=52%2C52

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