Gentlehawk

Our bodies were carved
from the same ginger clay,
my dents match your protrusions
my lips yours, your fingers mine.

On a starless night
coupling to our desire
the watching moon
cursed our frail figures.

My eyes witnessed
you tossed, curled up
the ripping of your back's marble
and the snow feathers that erupted

Your olive orbs focused
on my glittering legs,
see I was revolving too
in the transforming pains.

See, we were build to fit
even more to complete,
I was sculpted to fall in
the deepest of your chest.

But life grew me gills
and you hollow bones
so I am letting you fly,
refined argil of mine.

We glimpse during twilight
that we used to hold tight.
Oh, just as I was set to fall in.

(inspired by the "Massive attack" psyche and the movie of Ladyhawk)

The shell pendant

The shell hangs on a golden string
asymmetric lines curved together
in the valley that roots my neck
a picture inside I keep on holding.

Cheap cloths on a public beach,
the young us playing catch,
a moment in colors of chess,
caught by a since lost lens.

It holds all those stormy nights
I came to sleep by your side,
all the "how was your day"s
of the greening of the leaves.

The cold of the suns that set
shed of that and other salt
and dried, pressured into pulp
holds the bones in a pole.

Me, a flag to the wind of time
tight to it gaze the reviewer,
it is that shell of once upon
my compass to where I've been.

But the tide keeps at my ankles
resigned to rob under my feet
the desert that there stood
steady as the clock's beat.

The day will come it will win
when of this shell I lose grip
and holding on to a gem
won't brace me for the slip.

Because it is your history
the concrete ground
the future is built upon.

inspired in : 

Your thorn brought in the world

I was hidden inside a cocoon,
color wouldn't breach in
all I saw were the shades
the world made on the walls.

Curious you shook the whole,
as a child would Christmas morn,
a muffled dead echo was all,
but got you to kiss my skin.
Your pointy curved thorn
rubbed my projection screen
and freed me from the gloom
teared the fabric off scene.

My wings liberated to spread
made your eyes bloom.
I cannot understand why
but I filled your blue sky.

All the while your kiss,
it still brings me to tears
as it is ever more dense
with the wet grass scent...
the fountain water splash,
the sparrow wing sound,
the moist of the breeze
from this roses ground.

You bloom in me ever more
more than I thought would fit,
and which is stranger of all
started with a kiss from a rose.

Inspired by:

Oh gravity, ye shapeth my universe.

Oh, treacherous pull of endless floor
under our light inconsequential trample,
in equal measure, the feather is won
cursed by thee, to its inevitable fall.

Thy naked invisible attraction
sways the seas in moonlight dates,
holds north and south feet kissin',
and has us visiting the sun from west!

Force that collects from all distance
a grip the scale takes the measure,
I miss ye largely drifting in space.

Ye are a tango between bodies,
from a bang that predates time,
sculpting atomic dust into planets.

A day I'll remember

Ten years past, as if it were today.
You waited in that open hallway.
A timid February sun lit the hotel
that morning almost a shell,
offering your hourglass navy blue figure
a center to its stage.

My parents met your planted feet,
hands resting in the side openings
of your fathers thick tailored suit
slightly wider approaching the ground
hints of when disco was in town,
eyes unwavering from my blush
while you x-rayed my resolve,
so they took the lift to the attic.

"Shouldn't you have waited
upstairs with our family?"
I had called to say I was coming.
"Thought we were going together."
A laughter sneaked out my nose
releasing my back bones.

The planning details included a rose
one for each lady with ruby petals
three in my hands with white speckles,
testing of cloths a hundreds,
tasting of foods of wonders,
the white heart shaped cake
with red hearts of almond
but we hadn't discussed
nor had the thought crossed
how we'd behave here after.

Not that it could matter,
I just wanted to dive in
your water green eyes
and anchor there forever.

We took to the hovering box
hand in hand on our own
with that ambient jazz
talking as if we hadn't
about who did what
to get us in there
and all the rushing.
Fitting we'd stand together!

He steadied my hand
as I now trust him to
glittering in sweet anticipation
his turquoises locked my sapphires
and we synched our breathes
in time to hear the arriving ping.

The metal doors opened
a live came this large room
framed by long windows
the salt taste from east
where the waves hit the beach
occupied most of one side,
while small houses and pine
filled the rest and the other.

Lots of chairs were rowed
to witness a table for three
centered by dozen scarlet roses
and with a white paper at hand
an official asked "what would it be?"
we said we'd order a life together
with a side of love and devotion
also adventure to drink
and little was then left to speak.

So on this day of lovers
we tangled our hands
with gold finger bands
and words to hold on forever,
starting a tale written by two.

God paradox

Here is what I cannot fathom:
If god is all and evermore
why would he follow
any treasured church?

Why would you
love a god to fear?
trust a god indifferent?
or be guided in his whispers?

If he is and has been
source and architect
why assume he means
a plan that is for us?

I conclude he either:
is bright and refuses the altar;
smites hence deserves no power;
or is not but our will to follow.

In any case, I am free
to be the best version of me
for the sole purpose
of earning my sleep.

A star is born

When huge amounts of mass
are so tightly compressed
becomes so dense
that it starts to burst.

Heat reaches values such
that the flames possess
the ability to generate
new elements from scratch.

Years of light traveled
to all corners of the universe
will delight our sight
in a simple shiny dot.

A child reaches up
pointing to the black veil
where a new spot
brightens the night.

"Look a star."
Then runs to measure
its height and angle
the color and texture.

She blinks back
nice to meet you too.

She has a back bone like none

(Allpoetry image prompt) 

We have all been scarred by life.

Some wear these in plain sight,
they display them in soft sobs
feed them as spicy cookie crosses
and blame them for the tortuous
ways of the lines in their hands.

Some cover them with colorful tunics,
the playful patterns dwell over raw meet
skinned by this melodic charade
of gardens of puppies and kittens
and over sweetened honey teas.

Some stick hard to the bones,
like vines on the worked stone
of an abandoned Victorian house,
the body grows mapping its grooves,
a Gardner's Siamese surgery.

She?

Before the first air stole her cry
her mother shirked at her hold,
what demon had tricked her whom?
The mother drowned in apocalypse now
while her first step got her closer to the door.

Her words as she took to it:
"there is no space in tight shoes
for feet to grow."
And she planted them on her own
on the hardest ground she knew.

She wore now the tattoo on her back,
an uneven waterfall of lumps
that jumped rope her spine childish,
as a testimony to the sturdy scalpels
and the coaching overload of nerves.

The story it told as I traced her naked lines
made all other women shrink
to barbie dolls in dream houses
and her lips had to teach mine to breathe
just to keep me from crying.