Category: lesbian

Gems of Dawn and Sunset

Image is my own

 

If I could gather a handful of dawn and a handful of sunset,

I’d cut and polish each handful into gems

                       For you to keep,

To take out and wear as you would wish,

For there are no stones of value containing beauty enough

To give you but these that are not true stone—

 

Yes, a handful of sunset,

A handful of dawn—

Their beauty ever constant,

Yet ever changing—

Daily renewed—

The only things containing beauty enough

For you.

 

Burn Away

Courtesy of free photo library 
Is this what you, indeed, wish?



The feel of some bold mystic chaos

Contained within the fire of kisses

Traveling along the boundaries 

Where lived an identity 

You lost long ago—

To feel that chaotic fire

Burn away the identity 

You wear today—

Feel passionate softness

Twist within and around

Leaving bruises unseen

And you undone

In twisting mystic 

Chaos of fire.

Walking

Image courtesy of nationalgeographic.com





Walking through days---
There are too many left
And not enough 
To let me forget.

I walk into sunrises
Into sunsets--
There are not enough
Sunrises or sunsets left
In life to let me forget
And too many yet to live
To live in remembering.

I walk to gain forgetfulness.
There are not enough miles,
Not enough steps,
Not enough earth
To walk
To bring 
About forgetfulness.

I walk, seeking shelter
From thunderstorms
Yet they remind me.
I walk, seeking exhaustion
In the mountains
Yet they remind me.
I walk, seeking the healing of salt
From ocean waters
Yet they remind me.
All speaking
In whispers 
Of the earth’s remembrance.

It all reminds me—
The brilliant azure sky,
The verdant green of forests,
The primal roar of oceans,
The Rorschach shape of clouds,
The roil gray of storms—
It all reminds me,
Brings me back

Nothing allows me to forget.


	


	
	






	
	

		
In the Language of Gods
	


	

		

Photo by Madex  Photography on Pexels.com




In the language of gods,


we speak in whispers


of the luxury to touch


And know all there is


to know of heaven and earth


mingled here in our hearts


and in the earth


beneath us–


a braid


we create in ecstasy


of feeling knowing


all there is to know


of ourselves


and each other–


the sweetness


of rapture


dripping from


the soul


 


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Petals of Words
	


	

		

Photo by Yaroslav Shuraev on Pexels.com




 


 


I swore never to give my words away like blossoms in the spring.


Yet, I marvel at all the words I’d gather,


arrange for you in artful, elegant bouquets.


I’ve keloid locks where my words are stored.


I possess not the oils to soften those locks,


Trapping my words deep in their vault,


My words may never know freedom.


 


Yet, I find myself streaming petals of words for you


In hazy, lazy patterns,


Knowing you have the wisdom, the soul


To read my words much like braille—


A code of sorts–


So you can hear and know,


Though unspoken,


All my words bestow.


 


 


 


 


 


 


 


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Upon the Morning Air
	


	

		

Image courtesy of Melinda Fawver@Dreamtime.com









 


A scent upon the air this morning still


 


At least in these wild imaginings—


 


With the colors of sunrise muted


By the humid haze hanging in the air,


My eyes close to better see the glow


Of white skin by moonlight,


To better catch the scent


Of her in the slight breeze–


 


And then—I do not know—


 


It seems I feel the touch of angel feathers upon my face.





	


	
	






	
	

		
Color Dreams
	


	

		






https://godoggocafe.com/2020/05/26/tuesday-writing-prompt-challenge-tuesday-may-26-2020/




Today’s prompt: End a piece of prose or poetry with the phrase “I miss you”


 


Don’t know what to do


when I dream of you.


Waking, I want to drench


my brain in pure bleach,


soaking it through,


until all the colors of you


out of my soul leach


and no longer do I miss you.
	


	
	






	
	

		
Lessons
	


	

		

Dia de los muertos..makeup by June courtesy of Pintrest.com





This is the lesson of you,


Oh, the things you do teach–


Wearing your blue mantle


Lined in blackness


With your crooked fingers


Tipped in painted red do you reach


Ripping out hearts


Adding to a collection


You keep in a box.


 


Until the day of the dead,


When you light your fake fires


And scented candles,


Spread your blanket


For the time to admire


All hearts in the box of your collection,


Chant your incantations and prayers


To La Muerte for protection


From the evil you spread


And La Llorona for aid


Searching for the newest victim


From whom your red tipped claws long to rip a heart.


 
	


	
	






	
	

		
Walking to Race Point
	


	

		

Race Point Lighthouse Sunset Photograph by John Burk




Sleeplessness always told the story


between the back when and now,


what she once thought a game,


tracks leading nowhere.


This last section of living


something not well lived.


A swirl of memory


piercing through knots


too tight to be undone.


She had lived without a plan,


having a heart that spoke in tongues


she had yet to understand.


	


	
	






	
	

		
Window Shopping
	


	

		






Oh, do so pardon me,





Window shopping only, dear.





No temptation to try it on for size





in some strange dressing room,





to look in the mirror to see





exactly how it fits.





No touch of whimsy





to impulse buy





only to return,





and God forbid,





pay any re-stocking fee.





I may appreciate the look.





I may so enjoy 





reading the product description,





but no,





no thank you, my dear.





Please, no trial samples





to increase the clutter





I’ve collected over years.





You see, love,





it’s like in Ecclesiastes,





there  is a time to
buy





and a time to leave it on the rack.





Yes, sweetie, 





I know it’s on sale,





but the return policy





is too exhausting with disclaimers





to know if it’s worth the risk





of finding a good fit.





So, for now, my sweat pea,





let me just peruse 





the clearance stacks 





and perhaps read





the product contents





out of simple curiosity.





Perhaps, one day,





though, I doubt it,





my dear,





I’ll find something





that strikes my fancy,





take it from the rack





to the fitting room,





try it on for size,





and find a good enough fit





to buy.