I barely remember
your kiss.
Still,
I spend the night
in this dream,
waiting for you to leave.
Tag: poetry community
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painfully bliss
Ultimately, we imagined so many things novelty outran intention: Power became currency, battle our true recreation, and regarded old aesthetics to ease the lens of time. How painfully ignorant to have died in honor of forgetting how to live.
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Beneath the Bridges Nigh
What is a mere walk between friends? A missed kiss in chlorophyll soaked air. What is it about you?
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___’d
A serene massacre. How cute you see a tunnel of light.
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anuthanote
My name lingers around crevices of your teeth. The gaps, where soap slides and slips uselessly, remember charcoal rubbings impressed on dark corners of my face. Acid builds when you’d rather sleep. Some call that heartburn for how little you mean to them - heartache - I had hoped.
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Alloy
The sad part about Atlas: When he shrugged, no one came to rub menthol cream over his bruised shoulder.
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Just Finished: “Supernova” by Ris V Rose
My friends, today, I’ve gorged myself: On morsels of chocolate, bitter leaves, and honey wine – on smiles and choked down tears alike.
“Supernova” was everything I needed it to be and a couple things I didn’t expect. A beautiful poetry collection, the blossoming of a harbinger, inspiration, the touch of another’s empathy, and a nostalgic peach.
Where I often find consistency dull, “Supernova” cast charm upon the subtle nuances of a theme across years of learning. Insight Ris has come to from the depths of sorrow to the vibrance of her life mimicking the metaphor she carried with her throughout.
Guiding you through the book, Ms. Rose leaves you with the catharsis of her notes: sometimes punchy sarcasm, others deep longing, often both. Not only do they bring you closer to her world, but provide a new lens with which to re-read the passages. I felt a familiarity with the honesty that lurks beneath compared to the sweetness written above.
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It’s Pronounced Bæzəl
Listen to the elders. Their beseeching spilt over dry leather cracks and smoked spices. Painful cinnamon with a hint. Piscine odored mist upon the bridge connecting feelings to one so bereft, so clouded...
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Darkness says she’s not left-handed
Gentle ambition lives among the fears of wasted breath. No sooner had I clung to this revelation than the cliff stopped abruptly at the entrance of my fall. Honestly, rude.
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recycled musings
Autumn, we look back, who am I? I thought you were... supposed to know. A sliver in tune with cracks in my voice reflected on lustrous cheeks. Another dead-leaf labyrinth to roam alongside gentle kisses of burnt, balsam breeze.
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