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Read MoreThe caravan, a whisper on a forgotten road drawn by the breath of stone-cold dead as the wheels grown a hollow songthe last living driver holding reins over the swollen dunes...rollin'
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Thank you.
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Read MoreWith twenty-two shots of vodka. The night deepens around us, the moon and stars softly humming a lullaby to the rhythm of your breath. Your skin warms mine, a slow, gentle melting. The world outside dissolves into quiet stillness,...
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22 shots?! I hope y’all split them!
I love this write for its common theme that we all can relate to, but with your artistic ability making it so interesting. It has a tenderness but not passive at all.
dare I say lovely? It is.
Excellent write.-
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Thank you very much.
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A wonderful writing, dear Adagio! It breathes the “quiet magic” of a tender relationship, far away from boring routine.
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I appreciate that.
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Read MoreEach breath an ensemble,a thousand silent strings plucked by the wind.The low cello hum of lungs, the sharp flute of air,the sighing oboe of a body in rest.And somewhere in the current,the base of the earth vibrates beneath,bending the...
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Read More...the moon a pale bone coagulating insomnia a thud of memories excommunicating nostalgiatrapped in a bottle of rum, suffocating meas I lay me down to sleep, whispering to genie
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This poem lingers like the caravan itself. A ghostly presence on a forgotten road. The hollow wheels and lone driver evoke a haunting sense of time, memory, and motion beyond the living.