I like your wide open window soft abandon
your wild free wheelin rambunctiousness
a soft new invention
a concoction of sensual indigenous aromas
and I want to hear you sing
your wild buffalo song
my axe wailing some new chord
with the sun on our backs
cool water in our packs
I want our hikes to go on for days
exploring everything wild
fully contaminated with green forest and wild herbs
till our blood is so fully and completely inoculated
with chlorophyll and light
that our dreams become plainly visible
as the light runs from the skies
and the sun dims
we will lie on warm ground
inventing a new perfume
under a blanket of whispering stars
Adam A. DeFranco
with my heart.
How can I contain my passion for snails?
For otters, milkweed in autumn,
the holes in old socks that live
for decades in a drawer,
stray cats, lonely porcelain
Sleeping Beauty and the Prince
salt and pepper shakers,
coyotes moaning in the wetland,
wayward petals that wander
far from their roses
on rain-swollen breaths of September.
Each creature, I’m afraid,
is my favorite partner.
You, you above all.
I say that to everyone, don’t I?
After love making,
the universe and I just lie here
gazing through our tears.
Who is the sweat-beaded Dancer?
Who is the Witness wearing only
a necklace of stars?
One who burns completely,
leaving neither smoke
Alfred K. LaMotte
but please, don’t give me that stuff
about God playing hard to get.
She is so into you
I can’t believe you don’t see it.
She’s flagrant about it.
She writes you the steamiest letters
in the colors of sky and leaf,
in stone and sea and child,
her hands are all over you,
she has moves that—admit it—
make you blush.
He’s in your dreams,
whispers to you when you aren’t listening.
You think those scriptures are some dry text
but it’s him, fawning all over you,
saying your name.
She wears the most revealing outfits,
struts her stuff, begs for attention.
They’ve always been like that.
Going on singles cruises,
trolling the skankiest bars in town,
hoping for luck.
She has no shame, no holding back.
I’d take her aside and talk to her
about decorum and such,
I can’t even get in the same room with her
without her climbing all over me.
She’s yours, mate.
Yeah, it’s a little wild. Razor’s edge.
I get why you pull back.
Secretly, so in the dark you don’t even know,
it’s your own heart that’s flirting
with everything that moves.
She’s the one
who’s holding you quietly, calmly, murmuring,
“Easy. Easy. I’m right here.
You’ve got me. It’s OK.”
I want to lay with you
in a tangle of sheets and tongues and crazy, wild hair
with the rain beating against the foggy windowpane
and touch your face
as our warm
eyes and souls and bodies
melt into one
the perfect trifecta
I want to stay there
and then another endless, beautiful day
I’ll not ever ask for more
than to love
and be loved
Amy Lloyd (AL)
die for it–
or the world. People
have done so,
their small bodies be bound
to the stake,
fury of light. But
climbing the familiar hills
in the familiar
fabric of dawn, I thought
and Europe, and I thought
how the sun
for everyone just
as it rises
under the lashes
of my own eyes, and I thought
I am so many!
What is my name?
What is the name
of the deep breath I would take
over and over
for all of us? Call it
whatever you want, it is
happiness, it is another one
of the ways to enter
~ Mary Oliver, New and Selected Poems
Remember: Joy is not a sin; sacrifice is not a virtue.
❤️ Paulo Coelho ❤️