Skip to main content

Sing Me Your Forever Song, Nomad Lover

The petrichor was thick in the air
As he ran his fingers gently through my hair.
I didn’t know if it was
Love.

A few months of dalliance,
Letting my morals tip off balance.
Viatic, my heart felt hiraeth, a need for
Home.

His words, mellifluous and charming,
In my ears, were sweetly swarming,
Maybe this was a limerence, a forever
Place.

The virga hung low in the sky,
And I wondered, wondered why,
He’d become so comely in my eyes, a
Star.

As if reading my mind’s utinam,
He slipped back into me with a plan.
Penis indefatigable, hot and
Heavy.

He’ll be my phenomenal everything,
My affectionate dwelling, always. Make me sing
Into forever, make me sing
Our song.

--

Mad Words List 4.24.18

Mellifluous
Dalliance
Phenomenal
Comely
Sonder
Penis
Petrichor
Limerence
Hiraeth
Indefatigable
Viatic
Utinam
Virga

--

Today was a beautiful rainy/snowy day, and I wanted to capture that with a bit of passion and the twist of going from uncertainty to surety, from being a lover nomad to finding a home.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Bonus Poem: Look Up!

Looking down, I read the priceless pages, Someone else, sweetly, precisely, Had written their drinkable life on. And I drank in the appreciation Of her words, one sentence at a time, A good, fresh white. Sensational, the clouds were Pouring in, filling my cup,  Easing in, with a soft voice that said, "Look up!" My eyes glanced, only peeking At first, toward the sky. Those rain-bringers harnessing My irises with glee. And as if it had been there All along, the whole long while, A sparrow drifted into the Watercolor before me, soaring. It glided on the currents That were my own world, too. And we shared the view, Him up there, I, eyes lifting further now. And then the wind found itself Playing in the cottonwood's hair. And I smiled, thinking About how good it probably felt, Those wind-fingers, sifting through. 
Post a Comment
Read more

I Don't Know How To Be An Ocean, She Said

"I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. To become an ocean, Don't drown in yourself. Reflect the sky, as above. Feel the pitch black of night And the torches of stars, the only guides Until morning. Welcome those who would tread, And the urchins, and feel the trash islands Press you down. Press back, harder. Know the temporary. Be a receiver of boats, of Ships passing in the night. Don't let high tide Have any more strength than low tide. It's all part of the process. When the rage surges through your waves, Know the stillness that once caught you Breathless at the shore. “I don’t know how to be an ocean,” she said. Don’t hold back. Overflow, and Recede when you’re ready. But go ahead, Taste saline. And feel the wind against your back. Know you can be destructive, a force of unpredictability, And also the peace someone else is looking for. Do you feel your depth? There are pieces of you, so below, no one has ever seen, even
Post a Comment
Read more

The Protagonist

She was more of an idea Than a person, yet Her arms reached through The wrinkled pages As I was planning Her defenestration. “Don't,” she said, holding My hand steady. Her typical loquaciousness Gone in a moment - being At the rim does that. Her desperate idea-fingers Grasping, trying to stop The Dusk. I brooded over her Resistance. This story Would be knee-deep In hardship, in never-before-felt Pain. How could I put her In the middle of this Vast dystopian wastebasket And hope she clamors Out? Perhaps I could give her A companion, a slobber-filled Canine or a not-so-kindred Spirit? I could fill her days With synchronicity, with a This-leads-to-that purpose, to fight through The drawl and the drudge, The beginning. In this oneiric world, More nightmarish than The last, she would find Herself at the cusp of Her Self. First demure, red lips Parting only for candy-laced words, And then later, only To respect a humble god or command Her hunger-ridden army To live. Yes, I see the smoke
Post a Comment
Read more