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Literature Text
Summer in the harsh land
my tan line accounted for between freckles and bruises
The particular nostalgia
of espresso stirred into milk and cinnamon
August the hot asphalt burn
On the skin left after July streaks by too fast for you to gasp for air
The purring of the thunderstorm.
The soft drenching of the rain.
Fire and laughter in the dark.
my tan line accounted for between freckles and bruises
The particular nostalgia
of espresso stirred into milk and cinnamon
August the hot asphalt burn
On the skin left after July streaks by too fast for you to gasp for air
The purring of the thunderstorm.
The soft drenching of the rain.
Fire and laughter in the dark.
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Literature
so take your time, love
I will wait for you like spring
here
on the other
side
of frozen
silence
and dissipating
fog
here
at the end
of those
hardscrabble days
paused
in hushed awe
at your blooming
at the delicate
grace
the luminescent
kaleidoscopic
shape
you press up
through the oft
salted earth
there will come a
time
(for you)
to harvest
but for now
soak up these
quiet mornings
sun-kissed
and purring
the air
redolent
unlearning
storms and
seasons
that sought to
sublimate
your growth
renew your hopes
you are not
their
scattered seeds
you are
the flowers
you have
planted
Literature
rememorari
I keep memory in absence
though your story has
a long forgotten ending
I will bury my ghosts
in the afterlife of moments
and let effort be a windowsill
to the crematorium of burdens,
the echo of living the ashes of longing,
a cemetery of remembrance
and in your memory I find
someone to stay
Literature
Metta
Sometimes
when I fear that no one knows me,
I remind myself:
You are stars and indigo
jewel blue
and wide-ruled lines.
And this isn't loneliness.
It’s a delight to be a mystery.
No one can know your soul,
how it seeps into the cracks and crevasses of the world,
what little thrills it will delight in.
It's yours alone.
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Comments7
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Such beautiful imagery. You should capture all the seasons
with your words.
with your words.