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Literature Text
paradise of galilee
pomegranate garden
forest of grape green vine
anemones
and
lilies
garden redolent
with saffron coloured roses
black skinned woman of dusk
milk
and
honey
fragrant
henna adorns your wrists and ankles
green rue
gennesaret jewels
hair black satin
these adornments
your grape vines
& wine
lapis formed language
of desire
argot
of cast at honeyed feet
flowers
these already belong to you
your
saffron robes hand
petals and sweet figs
belong to noon as to morning
and you turn against the sky
drink damask rose
he sighs
jeweled lapis
woman woman
woman of desert and wilderness
jeweled woman language woman
with
green robes myrhh scented hands
green bed
lilies and roses
he sends you sweet figs and dates
you eat them
dusktime myrhh
already olives glisten
on flower
your language
mouth gestures
you stretch out
etched wrists
the gardens voice wild pomegranate
his ardour
a veneration
yours
pomegranate garden
forest of grape green vine
anemones
and
lilies
garden redolent
with saffron coloured roses
black skinned woman of dusk
milk
and
honey
fragrant
henna adorns your wrists and ankles
green rue
gennesaret jewels
hair black satin
these adornments
your grape vines
& wine
lapis formed language
of desire
argot
of cast at honeyed feet
flowers
these already belong to you
your
saffron robes hand
petals and sweet figs
belong to noon as to morning
and you turn against the sky
drink damask rose
he sighs
jeweled lapis
woman woman
woman of desert and wilderness
jeweled woman language woman
with
green robes myrhh scented hands
green bed
lilies and roses
he sends you sweet figs and dates
you eat them
dusktime myrhh
already olives glisten
on flower
your language
mouth gestures
you stretch out
etched wrists
the gardens voice wild pomegranate
his ardour
a veneration
yours
Literature
Who knew
The man you visited in a dream,
The one you re-traced a half-remembered
Path for, in the off-chance of
Surprising one another again -
Polychromatic flannel and subtle sighing
Through the teeth, gently
Warm eyes softly exotic
Slavic vodka on a late summer night -
Swept by today, wearing blinders of
Deep conversation, still
Smiling with an accent
His arm around a waist
I want to sit in my room, arms wrapped around
Knees against chest in the solace of the sun,
I want to watch the endless journeys of
Sidewalk strangers from the fire escape
But it's ten to four and
There's no time to cry anymore;
Only time to join the chattering
Choir
Literature
Uncoordinated Longitude
When I picked up the phone she told me that she missed the trains
and the way the rain smelled in the summer.
I scratched a pattern in the table with my thumbnail. I stretched
the phone cord between my fingers and said I was sorry.
She asked what I had to be sorry about and I told her I didn't know.
I twisted the cord into a clover shape while I remembered
her laugh when we picked up the penny off of the tracks, tossing it
back and forth, watching it catch the light and throw it back.
She asks me where I am and I know she does not ask where so much
as why.
Literature
This Is The Soil
The dirt was cold, and the skin around my fingernails clung to it hopefully. I churned in his ashes slowly, giving him back to the birches he planted forty years ago. I started using the curls of their bark for paper after he died; lines of poetry struggle every day in the drafts from the window, shivering and moving away bit-by-bit from the glass panes that I can see the river through. It always rushes in the winter; the cold is never cold enough to freeze, but always cold enough to chill. I left half the ashes in the urn.
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an experiment..in colour and style..and it was a LONG one for me....
© 2008 - 2024 Maurya2
Comments30
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This is unbelievably sexy, visceral, luscious. I feel like Lilith reading this. Gorgeous, mate. Gorgeous.