Without meaning to,
he’s disarmed me,
with kisses that soothe
and alarm me.
In arms that terrify
and calm me.
— Lang Leav —
beautiful gifts…
Our practice is to find our true home.
When we breathe, we breathe in such a way
that we can find our true home.
When we make a step,
we make a step in such a way
that we touch our true home with our feet.
— Thich Nhat Hanh —
i pray you, tell…
If I said, “Yes. Oh, God, please. Yes…”
and spread my velvety thighs before you, what might happen?
Where might you start?
When might we end?
Please.
sometimes much nearer…
Sometimes, it’s so simple: I just want you to fuck me.
(And now would be a good time to start.)
yabba dabba doo…
You ache with it all; and the more mysterious it is, the more you ache.
― Fyodor Dostoyevsky ―
gone are the birds that were our summer guests…
The crickets are raucous; wild for a reason, I guess.
The wind feels like… courage.
(Like that, only simpler.)
The fire pit smoulders; my hair smells of ash.
Tonite.
A season comes to pass framed by silky memories
and eventual, hopeful strains for some near-distant night.
You. Me. This.
We spread ourselves wide to the horizon that cradles our future –
the velvet expanse of our yet-to-be-known.
Awash in the restlessness of almost-goneness
I wish I had more time
grateful I can leave some of all that was behind.
A fruition of time that on this eve
blossoms and wilts.
Leaving is bittersweet.
It always is.
L
– Lola Moi –
morning ache…
L
L
“The morning undressed the night slowly.”
L
– 6-Word Story #91 –
the ____ she is…
YY
There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their names pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.
– Sara Zarr –
your very flesh shall be a great poem…
skinny legs and all…
