Wordle #440

Wordle 440


If I blink I might miss the shimmer
of the moon reflected over crystal clear water.
A lone sclera, she lounges behind
a ring of hymeneal clouds.
In her all that is malformed finds its origin.
I call out to her, torn wrists upturned in supplication.
This is where we start,
pages threadbare in repetition.

My heart is a blasphemous stone,
an estuary of blood and bone fragments.
I check her corridors and deposits
but they are both empty.
It is only when she speaks
that I am made aware of her beauty.

My pockets are full of stillborn flowers
each stem cut carefully on the diagonal.
How much does it cost to fix a life
that has already expired
and how much more
to construct a new one?

If my curves were truly divine
would your lips not tremble to taste me?
If my words were sufficiently sweet
would you climb on top of me
and press your fingers deep inside
of my tear-soaked silhouette?
The things we could do
to each other are endless.



Lucid Dreaming

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Every night I wait for you,

silent, cocooned

wearing nothing

but my over-sized heart.

When I am lying

there silent as a bell

in the crevices between hours

I think of the shapes

your lips would make

when slotted against my own.


Anticipation has turned

my skeleton to powder

and my tears to salt.

I subsist on feelings.

I subsist on air

both savage and divine.


Your fire is not misplaced in me.

Your fire is the catalyst

for all my instincts,

Make me your conduit,

summon me like a spirit

into the diaphanous pages

of your unrequited dreams.

My love is a revolution.

Stormy Blue

Love You Glass

Your breath is raw and poignant

against my moon pale skin.

It cuts through me as if I 

were made of fabric.

In your arms I am remade

countless times into someone

much more beautiful than I am.


I feel you in everything,

in the miles of uninhabited space

that is my primitive heart.

The compression of our bodies

giving way beneath the stars

presses out the darkness.

So long as you are here

I am occupied in every

conceivable sense.


Beneath your fingertips

my body is a symphony

and all that you are 

floods through me like the ocean,

stormy blue and unprecedented.

When I reached for your hand

I didn’t know that you would

swallow me whole.



I am still feeling under the weather so I am sharing my instagram post for the day! Hopefully I will get out a poem tomorrow! I was thinking of this while I was out for a walk today about how much time we spend trying to convince other people to love/like/accept/forgive us. Of how much effort we put into trying to impress others or sell ourselves to others and how devastated we are when they don’t recognize our value. Even when they do recognize it their praise never makes it past our inner self critic as it was intended. So much of what we are, so much of our inner beauty, and our true strengths gets covered up by the masks we wear to “seduce” others into wanting us.


Quick word from me. Not feeling too great. I have eczema (I think) and it is spreading fast. I think that my kitten might be the cause :-(. I recall I had a significant problem with eczema (or some form of rash) in high school and I had a cat then too but I never linked it or looked into it. I am not even sure I have eczema but I am covered in a itchy blotchy reddish rash. In general since we got Bell my health has gotten significantly worse but I hate to think it is her because I love her so much. Maybe it is just the cold dry weather but I have been in Sweden for 10 years and this is the worst outbreak by far.


Any tips for people suffering with this condition?



Beneath my ear
your pulse is a choir,
an ascension of larks
in the gilded light of dawn.

In the halo of your grin
I can taste my redemption.
I lift my hands
and take you into my arms
piece by piece.

The spaces between us
are stitched together
with shadows.
The pressed ash
of dreams left too long
amongst the stars.
For you I could be made real.

I apologize for being late. I was out of town. Quick 5 minute write!


Pulse Live

I run my fingers through

your multifarious constellations.

The moon surrenders

to the will of your wolfish grin

and I follow madly into the night.

Unaware of the complexities

of our destiny, shared or not.


My heart is taunt with your resonance.

Each night without warning

I raise my pale face to meet yours

and expel the air from my lungs

in one long, lovesick moan.

Inside of your lacustrine eyes

I submit to lustration,

to your pretty mouth

as it falls against mine

again and again.


I want to feel your reckless pulse

like a branding iron between 

my palpitating thighs.

I want to spread you out

like a sheet and tuck myself

into your circuitous margins.

I don’t need a sign

so long as my instincts

remain intact.


Boot Print

The infertile sky

carries on for miles and miles

black as a fiend’s tongue.


All that I have left

is the outline of your boot

pressed against my chest.


For now I will not

wash it off, for it must serve

in place of my heart.