What Is Bliss?

Press ME

But to have ones heart saturated with all the best ingredients.

Chocolate powder, swirled into crystal cubed, brown sugar bumps.

Mixed with chilled white milk and

Stirred inside endless clarity;

Only to be baked into a soft edible fever.

Coated with crying, frothed cream,

just happy to be apart of something.

Half-done, half- raw, half-baked, all-together.

Dreaming of filling in the space  of unsealed lips.

If for nothing else, isn’t this why we exist?

 

 

‘

 

The Laughing Heart

By: Charles Bukowski

                                                  Your life is your life

                                   don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.

               be on the watch.

                                               there are ways out.

                   there is a light somewhere.

                         it may not be much light but it beats the darknes

 be on the watch.

the gods will offer you chances

   know them.

take them

you can’t beat death

but you can beat death in life, sometimes.

                      and the more often you learn to do it,

the more light there will be.

 your life is your life.

                 know it while you have it.

                             you are marvelous the gods wait to delight in you.

Facing Up

By: Magnolia

Punch-drunk in a persuasive sea

I am caught in a bottle bound for beleaguered shores.
And around me dizzy trees and mountains roar.

Clouds shock themselves into tears

While I stare, facing up, thinking of you my dear

 

Tip-toeing inside the black, you gently waltz across evening shadows
And suddenly whizzz across the sky like an eager arrow

And all the while inside this noisy night
Pondering is swallowed by the twinkling of lights.

Etched between the moon and stars
are the arches of your smile and your lips, the hue of Mars.

And while I want to crash inside your heavens dust,
You cannot hear me above the oceans rust.

And though the sky has not offered its hand

I sit watchful with each breath ready to compress then expand;

Until the dusk peels back its skin

And I am kissed by dawns begin.

Between the Gap

By Magnolia

I live for that,

That small whisper in-between the fog

Wounds hushed by plush snow

and woeful hearts melted through tepid strokes.

Light, right before the fade of dark.

An abandoned desert first touched by the print of man.

Or fire seduced by adjacent streams.

It’s that closing of the gap as I near you.

Can you feel it?

The swaying hairs reaching from my arm.

Can you see it?

My swollen iris, lids double fluttering.

Or can you hear the wings of butterflies

pounding against captured air.

Long, rolling, syllables,

thinly spread upon a bed of silence;

begging to fill the space where you begin and I end.

And why is that as far as I’m allowed to get,

beside the respite of breath billowing between our lips?

I want to subsist inside the gap.

The difference of the two?

  A slight of hand,

a slit between being alive and merely breathing.

Her Speech

By: Magnolia

Her lethargic breath was rooted in the cave of a cumbersome heart.

Standing a foot the blank podium, tethered by opportunistic strings,

was the birth of a whisper

ascended into what became, a cataclysmic thought.

Like spiraling stairs with no beginning nor end, she spoke.

“Ejected from the gorge of emotional destitution,

I have realized that I have ascribed form to an existence that is but a shadow,

if not a dream.

And while I’ve remained fixed upon my daily deeds

I have abandoned my internal needs;

Misguiding shapes inside a living tomb.

I call upon the earth to fissure beneath my brain,

To thwart an arrow into the chasm of my heart,

and to pardon this lump of clay’s weary ways.

Soil and ice, no longer will you replace permutable fog.

For truth, a concept whose doors are not open for interpretation,

alas,  has made the journey through pore and rushing blood and found its home

upon electrical wires  breathing life into a paralyzed heart.

I say, empty handed and fragmented from a self-induced illusion,

that, that which is, is not a at all, and that which is to be, is to exists inside of me.

Compelled to create prickled shapes that would garner me the world, while gazing upon a blank wall, all at the expense of my heart beat.

Fair exchange it was not.

For I have spent most of my clock devouring the irrelevant, in hopes of quenching a parched soul,

and merely numbing it in the process.

But now with exhumed vision and  frail valves,

I have but one thing I want to do, and nothing else.

With the elegance of life’s exoskeleton bewildering my eyes,

And with the seed of creation rousing a previously unemployed  heart

Through inspired skin and  resurrected possibility 

from below me and above,

my only purpose here,

is to love.

 

“Poetry is nearer to vital truth than history.”

—

Plato

“Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of love, every man becomes a poet.”

—

Plato

“According to Plato, we don’t learn anything. Our soul has lived so many lives that we know everything. Teachers and education can only remind us of what we already know.”

—	Misty - Diary by Chuck Palahniuk

 

Through inspired skin and  resurrected possibility 

from below me and above,

my only purpose here,

is to love.

Continuities by Walt Whitman

Nothing is ever really lost, or can be lost,
No birth, identity, form–no object of the world.
Nor life, nor force, nor any visible thing;
Appearance must not foil, nor shifted sphere confuse thy brain.
Ample are time and space–ample the fields of Nature.
The body, sluggish, aged, cold–the embers left from earlier fires,
The light in the eye grown dim, shall duly flame again;
The sun now low in the west rises for mornings and for noons continual;
To frozen clods ever the spring’s invisible law returns,
With grass and flowers and summer fruits and corn.

Rain, Vapor and Rose Pedals

I caught a cab from 1st and everywhere,

drove around the city, head out the window, wind in my hair.

I was looking for you.

Lips pouting in  ready rouge and black sheer.

*

How many ways do I need to tell you,

or better yet no,

 I’ll show you.

*

You’ve awoken the lioness.

I was sleeping,

panting heavy,

slow and rolling;

ready to be waked.

*

And then,

I was upside down.

Feeling the red leak, one drip drop to the tip of my brain

pushing against eyes, as I smiled and pretended to be sane.

*

It’s like being shot in the heart and loving, no needing the taste.

It’s walking alone in the dark while twisting and winding your waist.

And all I see,

are visions,

of you.

*

How about,

I’ll show you,

I’ll tell you,

no matter how.

*

I’ll show you,

I’ll tell you,

right now.

*

I bought a pair of silk stalkings

hoping they would speak to you;

it was black lace, see-through.

I slid um up my leg and well,

the rest was in my head.

I took the candles to bed and let the wax tilt and play

and my skin, well, it was red and warm the next day.

*

In all my millenniums, if there’s any time to look into my eyes

it’s right now.

No coy, only candid.

Can you see yourself in them?

 Splendid.

A sculptor slaving over swallow happy skin.

And me, holding all my giggles in the corners of my grin.

*

And note,

that this omission,

is  for you,

and only you.

*

I only want to open my arms to

the one who can truly grasp

 the point,

to all,

of this.

But do tell me,

do you wonder how I kiss?

*

I’m constantly pouring myself over roses,

redefining the color of steam,

hoping to be unmasked, and then finally,

seen.

*

See I was porcelain,

stuck in one position;

until your heat,

it thawed me out.

*

I’m like a bee playing with a cat

“here kitty kitty,

But don’t by fooled by size, my bite stings,

deeply deeply.

*

And while looking for you,

you better find me soon.

Because frankly,

my darling,

life is quite boring without the bloom.

*

See, you’re like honey clinging to it’s bottle

lecherous, halting and light.

But one day, suddenly

you’ll be weighted with the desire to reach the tongue,

with all your might.

And well,

I might yawn

and even possibly,

be

long

gone.

*

Although I must say,

weighted in me, is so much of you.

*

Besides, who will help me put my pearls on

and slip on my black nylons.

*

Oh, and if you’re wondering.

I taste like

rain,

vapor

and rose pedals.

I only want to open my arms to

the one who can truly grasp

 the point,

to all,

of this.

But do tell me,

do you wonder,how I kiss?

To You, My Heart

I have come to great resolve

and must attest,

bare chested and with the wealth of every beat,

that had I but one last breath,

it would belong to you.

*

Spacious valves

dazzled skin

and captured soul,

Orchestrated by the abounding measures of an enchanted organ.

*

 Awash in the corners of each chamber

are your prints, apparent and benign.

*

Alive inside mellifluous veins

streams the rapture of a discovered being.

*

But my castle of bones, how quickly they do relent.

Not withstanding, my crux remains,

past soil, bloom, and flight

an immeasurable part of you.

*

Opulent warmth

fermented dreams

& imbued crimson

Splashed inside an infinitely swelling fortress.

*

In the simplest of terms,

You are therefore I am.

Gin Soaked Visions

By: Magnolia

He dreamt of her standing there,

dead center in the midnight of Time Square.

He snuggled against the light post,

Beard choking neck and gin washing teeth.

Wishing he was drunk off her skin and being wrapped in her sheets.

And as he sat in the cold, damp rain, and tapped his toe to the rhythm of his pain

He held his glass up to the light and thought with some doubt & fright,

  “If I stare through this long enough, will I be free from all this stuff.”

Soaked hair and bottle to chest, he closed his eyes and imagine her, in a dark, snug black dress.

And a smile couldn’t help but brush upon his lips as he dreamt of this woman’s undying kiss.

Who was she? This Helen of Troy,

a woman who turned the men into gaga eyed boys.

She was the boom, bass,

the last and sweetest drop out of a borosilicate wineglass.

She was worth leaving it all behind,

Rumpus days of playing the field

 and all his fake egotistical shields.

She was all the S’ssss that slide and slip off the sides of your tongue,

Sleek, silly, sophisticated, selfless and selectively sensuous.

And when she walked, trees that even the wind couldn’t bend

Would recline against the breath of men just to see her walk back and forth

again

and again.

Even reality readjusted it’s disposition for her.

As she didn’t live by the rules, she bent them & made um’ blur.

Shaking his head, he reminisced about the good old days

When riding the bus as a little guy,

he’d get excited by just a whiff of perfume as one of um’ walked by.

Or throwing stones

making wishes for a woman that unhinged jawbones.

And now, the only way he can find an Athena, Aphrodite or a Nyx is by

staring at the bottom of his glass or by reading Jane Austen classics.

But never mind all that,

’cause he ain’t budging for no woman unless she’s worth the combat.

He wants to be apart of a new revolution,

constructed with transparency and framed with the buoyancy of clouds in union.

He wants to be unraveled and shape shifted.

Oxygen revived and see something worth lifting the lid of his eye.

And until that day, arrives

he’ll hold his gin up to the lights;

waiting for that one

whose heart is worth it’s wait in gold, who makes a revelry out of growing old.

___________________________

GIN SOAKED VISIONS

He dreamt of her standing there,

dead center in the midnight of Time Square.

He snuggled against the light post,

 

Beard choking neck and gin washing teeth

Wishing he was drunk off her skin and being wrapped in her sheets.

And as he stood in the cold, damp rain, and tapped his toe to the rhythm of his pain

He held his glass up to the light and thought with some doubt & fright,

  “If I stare through this long enough, will I be free from all this stuff.”

 

Soaked hair and bottle to chest, he closed his eyes and imagine her, in a dark, snug black dress.

And a smile couldn’t help but brush upon his lips as he dreamt of this woman’s undying kiss.

Who was she?

(images: Sergio Albiac)

This Helen of Troy,

 

a woman who turned the men into gaga eyed boys.

She was the boom, bass

the last and sweetest drop out of a borosilicate wineglass.

She was worth leaving it all behind,

Rumpus days of playing the field

 and all his fake egotistical shields.

 

She was all the S’ssss that slide and slip off the sides of your tongue,

Sleek, silly, sophisticated, selfless and selectively sensuous.

And when she walked, trees that even the wind couldn’t bend

Would recline against the breath of men just to see her walk back and forth

again

and again.

Even reality readjusted it’s disposition for her.

As she didn’t live by the rules, she bent them & made um’ blur.

Shaking his head, he reminisced about the good old days

When riding the bus as a little guy,

he’d get excited by just a whiff of perfume as one of um’ walked by.

Or throwing stones

making wishes for a woman that unhinged jawbones.

 

And now, the only way he can find an Athena, Aphrodite or a Nyx

 is by staring at the bottom of his glass or by reading Jane Austen classics.

 

But never mind all that,

’cause he ain’t budging for no woman unless she’s worth the combat.

He wants to be apart of a new revolution,

constructed with transparency and framed with the buoyancy of clouds in union.

He wants to be unraveled and shape shifted.

Oxygen revived and see something worth lifting the lid of his eye.

 

And until that day, arrives

he’ll hold his gin up to the lights;

waiting for that one

whose heart is worth it’s wait in gold, who makes a revelry out of growing old.

La Luna

Once upon a moonlit tale, born inside a planted jar,

is where he fell in love with a delicate evening glowing star.

While trapped inside this heavy mass,

he reached his rays beyond the glass.

Though stuck and filled with fright, he knew one thing,

He’d do anything to have her see his light.

So pointed at the night one day,

he poured himself upon the fractured driveway.

Swimming in-between its cracks,

he found his way upon the oceans back.

And while challenged betwixt the midnight waves,

He held on to the glimmer of light inside of her beating gaze.

And when reaching became tiresome and the wind a heavy burden

He reached upon the feathers of a willing black raven.

Into the sky this light was carried,

while pulsating he hid his eyes beneath ruffled feathers, hopeful & teary

From beneath the oceans belly to sleeping above a bed of cotton

His dreams became more puissant, as he neared the place once forgotten.

And as he reached the sky, he let out a big breath and died.

With abrupt euphoria his rays danced inside the darkness

And his message thundered into the void where her heart was.

“Can’t you see my love,

the world is so small and we big in it.

I just needed to think that beings like you exist.

I hope its okay for me to confess all of this.”

And before his final word was etched,

she reached her arms to him outstretched.

Pressed against the midnight sky, her lips upon his cheek she kissed

And revealed they collided, taking pleasure in each-others eternal bliss.

To the Be of Things

You didn’t.

I did.

We aren’t.

*

So now sway and tilt and droop,

I will not.

*

No more,

Lull, mum, quiet,

Little

sounds.

*

I’m going,

to the Be of things.

*

Big,

brazen,

beautifully bazaar.

*

No more

Twinkled eyes, prancing pain and panicked,  pleasing.

But barefoot and bold,

boomingly, blissful

un-bashful- beats!

*

Rhythms made foreign to an over-bending back.

Bent on pleasing,

Bent on appeasing.

Coddling?  I must be stronger

Truant? Any? no longer.

*

I’m going

beyond busted glass with bodaciously blue lips

Blemished with brawn as a  bombshell buxom

*

Comatose till shock did I part

What was once dull is now silver

and stingingly,

 sharp.

*

 And decidedly so,

as a Be,

is so much bigger,

than a frowning spine and passive tongue;

Traced,

by behemoth pain.

Released through hot and sweaty

legs and neck and fingers and veins.

All,

tied,

to the key of believing past a running brain and scattered eyes.

So then I must.

I’m moving,

To the Be of things.

 

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I’ll Come Down When You Release Me

By: Magnolia

Ohhhh! You jingle jangled vexation!

So shaken, and oh,  so stirred;

Like the twisted teeth of a beast, finely smoothened to a round, creamed nub,

Nibbled and disturbed.

Untilted tie and just finely combed stands of brazened, babbling hair;

Collected and composed by slowly moving fingers, hypersensitive and aware.

The heart of a seeker skying across a row of wilted men and tawdry woman.

Vehement with drooling hunger in search of delicious, dapperly virtuous words.

Doomed to levitation till the ground beautifies its attitude, displaying lament.

Forget about maybe, sorta’, possibly, next time, try again, next give me now!

Interweave yourself within the tidings of my ticking soul anyway somehow.

Abate my angst,

Resurrect my serenity,

Give my feet a reason to kiss the ground.

Ubiquitous clay rise to meet me.

Sincerely and Truly,

Your

Lone

Floating

Daisy.

Midnight Interlude

By: Magnolia

To this experience, she was a guest.

Her usual floppy stance became erect and watchful.

Her eyes scintillated and sunken in fright

As a phantom, superior and with bizarre curiosity

Arose, deliberate, detached and delighted while dismembering itself

Inside the lucidity of a half- remembered dream where

All walls collapsed

Atoms took to beat and

Form neglected the boundaries of human conceptualization.

And while reality took to bed possibility

Buildings skipped from side to side, back and forth in comical repetition.

Red became green, blue, pink and plush purple.

Numbers echoed their  ”I am’s” until they, like a string of pearls, conjoined into a choir of nothing but decoration in an empty space.

Fatality became a companion only to walking apathy

Bombastic unpredictability became soothing potential

Quick became irrelevant

And like the sloth, all had abandoned the clock

And just like that, slow became comfortable.

This outer body experience left her observing the shell she originally inhabited

As all it’s questions, and pondering and confused, rampant vocalization,

Silenced her ghostly lips, and all that remained, was one thought

“Am I dead, or am I free?” a wonder that lasted but a second,

For suddenly the turbulence of beauty sliced into her experience

And the happiness of a moment coded in the feeling of a kiss;

Encircled, nuzzled and clutched every molecule

Below and between the gaps of every impossibility.

And a voice breathed forth the

Absence of fear and the presence of peace into an anxiety filled form

Everything was nothing, and nothing was everything.

And all that mattered, embraced the obsolete.

Closed eyes, and in the silence of her peace, her skin whispered, “What am I supposed to do with this?”

And in the dark, the face of an old man, expressionless, and bound to no sense of gravity

With one look, injected truth into into her barely beating veins,

“My love, thou inhibits all and everything. Boundless, you are the mother, father, daughter and son of creation. And your soft gel like tissues, afloat inside a castle of bones? A mere means of transport in a sea of possibility.”

And while her veins pouted in swollen satisfaction, with her last ounce of strength before her soul cavorted with a sleeping body, she said,

“I understand now, but if I forget later?”

And with no words, he thumped the answer into her heart,

“Then close your eyes and open your child.”

With those last words, she awoke

Drenched in the knowing that there was nothing more to be done,

She surrendered to trying and excavated complexity from the jaws of her trained mind.

And her eyes, drooped in the reckless abandonment of being in love with the infinite,

Tickled inside her enlivened flesh.

For there was no becoming she already was.

Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings

On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle

His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle

Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.

Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn.

Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,

He never quite felt he fit in his world.

Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.

Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.

For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.

So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs

Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s

Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.

With tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.

Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.

Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand

In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon

And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.

Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered, they swam.

They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.

Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.

And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub quickly turned and said,

“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I can feel heavy upon thy heart”

Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.

Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.

Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”

Treading and manic, he began to run out of air when the siren re-appeared,

She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”

He screamed “I need air!”

Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”

As he began to swim up, panicked, he found his feet tethered to the ground.

The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement in speech said, “So wake up!”

As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.

And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it.”

Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,

And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as  the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.

Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,

And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.

The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red

And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs & became a man, transcendent and magnate.

Trapped Utopia & Unfettered Wings

By: Magnolia

On the way home, in the midst of his evening bustle,

His hand griped at the lament buried inside his hearts muscle.

Wilted and torn he took off his blues and remained in the dress for which he was born.

Pondering in the stillness of feeling lost and lovelorn,

Like a gold fish witnessing the sea while concealed in a transparent cage,

He never quite felt he fit in his world.

Always yearning, waiting, transfixed on clock hands, tic tocked and twirled.

Meanwhile, wedged inside his genius, was the menacing feeling of a half-filled cup.

For when he was little; he knew he was meant to be big.

So, wishing by the sea & moon, he sat on a nest of twigs.

Transient figures, like neon signs burned between the dark sky’s

Reflecting each tear in his dreaming, uneasy eyes.

So, with tremulous cords and vacuous hands he let go and dove in.

Splashed beneath the film of water, cutting the deep horizons, were two feline eyes with petrified black feathered lashes.

In hypnotic awe he studied her lips, shaped with the figure of the crescent moon

And her blythe batting lids, concealing double helix eyes, they compressed and released to the drum of his heart.

Unable to look away, he felt the warmth of his veins cooled by her pale as corpse hand.

Dazed with curiosity, he allowed her lips to expand his chest & surrendered they swam.

 They past childhood sand-castles, faint, white dried roses, tiered Polaroids and running crayons.

Intrigued but perplexed nonetheless, till his eyes set upon Cherub Caliel, crying and withdrawn.

And as he approached extended hand and comfort unfolded, the cherub whispered,

“Awake ye now and rid thyself of death and dolefulness, that I feel heavy upon thy living”

Bewildered he looked for the siren that led him, but fled she had, and stuck he was.

Turned back, and before his eyes, the cherub decomposed into a plume of red & green dust.

Swallowed by smoke, swollen iris and startled heart he screamed, “I want out!”

Treading and manic,l he began to run out of air when the Siren re-appeared,

She quipped,”You mustn’t be afraid to dream a little bigger my darling.”

He screamed “I need air!”

Appearing to rescue but merely passing by, an octopus flushed in red, said, “So wake up.”

As he began to swim up, panicked he found his feet tethered to the ground.

The sea became more turbulent and a tiger vehement with speech said, “So wake up!”

As he struggled he suddenly found he was not a captive of the ocean but enslaved inside his own tub.

And a final vision of the Siren appeared whispering, “When you desire happiness as you have just desired air, then you will have it”.

Like an arrow to heart, her words struck him,

And not all too sudden, his muscle embraced silence and thoughts vanished as  the bones in his back gallantly began an unraveling procession fixed on rapturous expansion.

Freedom became he, as he floated, tenderly, above the sea,

And the water slowly crept from chin to eyes, releasing him from self-demise.

The next morning as he awoke, he found his back draped in wings and his heart cloaked in red

And from his cage, he did not wonder nor did he wait, he stretched out his limbs and became a man, transcendent and magnate.

The Waltz

 

By:  Magnolia

 I am the soil        And I the tree

 Together embraced, closely.

I am the wind      And I the leaves

Together we float careless and free.

I am the heart     And I the beat

Together we move quiet and discreet.

I am the pencil      And I the paper

Together we scribble the answer.

I am the bones     And I the skin

Together we build cover, beginning to end.

I am the door      And I  the knob

Together we absorb every throb.

I am the path     And I the water

Together we travel, paving next chapters

I’m the composer   And I the composition

Together creating melodies that grow and glisten.

I am the paint          And I your canvas

Together splashed and blended into the infinite planned for us.

I am the body    And I your bends

Together till the very end.

So when your color fades

and lines surround your eyes,

My lips will seal your heart with first loves reprise.

And when you are tiered,

I will be your awake

Forever in a waltz through love and heartache.

The breath to your lips, the sound to your silence,

The view to your window and the X to your spot;

We are but four eyes and one vision,

Percolated poetry, bound for eternity.

Knotted Inside Braided Vines

By: Magnolia

I want to be knotted inside the braided vines of your heart.

Far away, inside the slowly moving wings of your relaxed beat,

Softly blowing between the clouds of your most intimate thoughts,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,

And to the bliss of your words dipped in honey, sliding off the sides of your tongue;

While being wrapped inside the rising warmth of your hungry skin,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst.

Cracked hearts, traveling hands, painted toes and arched necks, genuflecting behind exposed linen and closed curtains.

The whispers of wind between the window seal, the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silence,

Through swaying emotions and tilted waters trapped in waltz;

And mixed between our minds, sweet cream and peppered dreams,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

Evaporated through the lips of pleased desires and stones muzzled in squeezed silenced

 the grazing of rose pedals against welcoming bones

Late nights and flickering fires bleeding of clenched wax and heated thirst

sweet cream and peppered dreams

And to the bliss of your words dipped in honey sliding off the sides of your tongue;

 

And every morning awake to freshly squeezed strawberries dripping between the smiles of your fingers,

Through swaying emotions and tilted waters  tilted waters trapped in waltz;

The whispers of wind between the window seal,

Is where I want my soul to rest.

A Lady of Ten Thousand Names

By: Magnolia

God you should have seen Isis, hemorrhaging with ambition while smiling in the harshest of heat.

She stood in the belly of that crowd, raised her arm in the air & matched her heart to the beat.

And suddenly every patron in the city, believers &  doubters, rose quickly to their feet.

Their fists pounding against the rhythm of  the wind; boom, boom, boom, boom!

Kinetic electricity surged from every cavity & splashed through any layers in the room.

Head high and shoulders back, she gave the deuces to anyone who didn’t think she had the knack.

Once the souls that questioned her are now asking for her signature.

Although in the dark & blind to the masses, she doubted nothing while lighting her own torches.

Bearing the brunt of naysayers & pile driving while supplying her own transfusions,

Every night she closed her eyes and challenged the dark with esoteric allusions.

She was a woman, but didn’t need to prove it.

Her ears had swallowed  broken glass and her knees felt the itch of mud and laughing grass.

And while it was in style to sport the scent of gin and sex,

She didn’t bother, she was a self-accepted reject.

All the while undeserving, with gut and grit, she pushed Sisyphus rock up and made it stick.

Her razor tongue savored the water of Tantalus and of others opinions, she could care less.

Unapologetic & foolhardy with determination, she fashions her lips with bona fied narration.

But when the crowd has dissipated she sits alone, contemplative.

And although she is silent in her tears, she paints only what she wants herself to mirror.

Saying nothing, she curls her fingers around the heart of the moon

She squeezes it in hopes of growing more immune.

A goddess, a rebel, a lady of ten thousand names, she breaths to the beat of her own drum, she is a consummate dame.