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stay
It's just that damn cliche:I missour kiss. Your mouth wrestlingwith mine,with excuses and searching hearts, seeking For lost time. We were two wild birds fluttering wings,making noises, coos,next to the bookstore. Full of racks of used poets,all of them used, weathered,their author biosPeering at us through the windows. Through the rain. I wish I had … Continue reading stay
The Tenth
...this perfect kiss. These flowers which rise within the glades, the light bent by branches, the hum of bees and sap. The touch of, the kiss of, sun upon forest floor.
a river in my hands
Rattling around…rattling around…somewhere in my head thissound is rattling,breathing, likea living thing…. This sound, breathingmurmuring…living river,which tumbles rocks,carries white, rising foamand eager swimmers This river full,life, verdant, green rootsgrasses on the bank,the slippering, long, thickfishwriggling into the muck,riding the curves, the… Water flowing, veinsof blood, of water,coursing through wantonbeating, ragingheart,this primal ride,the murmur risingto screamraging, … Continue reading a river in my hands
This storm
The slight chillthat runs through the heated air –blue skies edging with grey,shades upon shades emerging. The bilious clouds expand,fluffed up by wind-filled mouths,rise along the blue,climb it’s back and rises along it the wind which pushes,kisses the backs of the clouds,eager urging, the grey banks forwards –the overwhelm the sky, fill itform a canopy … Continue reading This storm
Protected: metamorphing (message me for password)
There is no excerpt because this is a protected post.
flowering
Toes at the waters edge.The water rolling forward.My feet covered. The push and pull of water and sand. Time without end.
Her face
A waterfall of dark hair,frames her face - focusingeyes that grace you,a gift when they find you,to burn through your lies,the untruths you sell(mostly to yourself,the hell of twisted introspection) The lips, curve - paint the air,an artist framing you.Your tremble as she measures,her whispersweighted with her foreign tongue,pronouncementssighsand the sudden soundsof surrender Her face, … Continue reading Her face
Une fois que je su qui j’étais
It unspools at her feet,a late night sky, clouds risen,of ribboned fabric. Names and titles stitchedline by line, needle-pricked fingers spilling blood,infusing the weave, Your name, caught up in there.Mine entwined with it, curving behind and along,shaped like lovers -shaping a tree embracing another -roots and branches wrappingshoots and leaves that tremble,touchfall Now, give rise … Continue reading Une fois que je su qui j’étais
At the heat
Smeltingis a major achievement.The heatfurnaces, white hotmolten ore, flowing metalthat's oozing, surging, reforming,informing heat, building The sweatand burnt flesh,smelters and stokers.The bent, and arching backs. The sinews, and the heat.
Writer Moe 