Xenoglossia
by Tzara
When I part the curtains,
her indigo jeans still hang
on the clothesline, legs spread
as I remember her last evening.
We listened to Mozart
and drank red wine.
Later, sprawled over the bed,
I played with her, with that soft part of her
that I can't say. Can't name.
Speech is not everything.
Confined in silence, yet could I
there speak my piece in tongues.
Her Instrument
by Neonurotic
Every string pulled tight vibrated
as it sung. Then tension popped.
The music continued, mellowing,
but still an echo long after the fade.
I've never thought the violin sexy
until that last note drawn under
her bow curled like calligraphy.
Her melody, my lyrics, our song
a seduction; she played me well.
Creating Shadows
by todski28
Twilight that infinitesimal place
between night and day,
you remind me of
darkness and light,
bound together in a moment
photographed on your soul
dancing between the setting
of the sun and
the rising of the moon
why transition to night
when we can bridge light
and shade
complexities in charms
wrapped in lovers
arms,
the colour of happenstance,
whole in substance,
passion red sky
in twilights eye
hang between the time
of shadow and light
suspend me in your colours
twilight experienced
thrice a day,
sun rise, sun set and
when at last our eyes met
that instant pales all else,
leaving nothing but shadows
in our wake
Whole
by rosilindjune
It is windy,
crisp and clear
as a tolling bell.
I walk beside you.
We don't look at one another.
We don't touch.
We are two halves of a moon,
separate now.
I remember your
threadbare sheets,
the old cotton
soft as chick feathers.
You will lay me down there,
all of you swollen and eager
and all of me warm and open,
blooming like a pink lily.
Your hands will
drift and stroke,
a soft wind
parting the
lush grasses,
until the rift
between us fills
with heat and memory
and we are suddenly
healed over,
shining and whole.
Harvest
by rosilindjune
The fruit
is mine
but I will
share.
Pull back the supple skin.
Open the tender cut.
Inside,
waiting,
is a warm
succulent
pulp
with only
one seed.
Dip your fingers deep.
Lick them clean
and drink the nectar.
Take your fill.
Claim my flesh.
For the
growing season
has been
long and tedious;
a thankless labor,
and for
you,
my love,
only for
you,
the harvest
has finally
come.
Poetry 🔥🔥🔥
But the fire up above
Extra HOT 🔥🔥🔥