Fille de Joie

Mid summer swelter, lips gaping like carnivorous flowers — certain traps are more lifesaving than safe havens.

Eyes brewing a unique mixture of vim and sadness piercing deeper than the genuine expression of contentment that is a smile — asymptotic infinities of asymptomatic affinities.

The extrapolative love solution to a non-zero-sum equation applied to feelings out of range.

Endless, and I still look for your voice in every call. I still seek your words in every verse, and I fill my cuts with vows and memories,

and I lick my bruises to retaste you, and I still proudly count your fingerprints on my skin. and you are endlessly

in every shape I wrap, in every sigh I exhale, in every twinge of anamnesis, and in every pointless hope that lulls my illusions

Who can unseed what one's sown? who can unsee what one saw?

Late spring sultriness ripens incandescent bodies made for coalescence, not orbitation — inevitable irreversibility; who can run from one's lot? gulp down one's own blossoms?

Reaping the ingrown satiation of smothered thirsts, lessons of pain spelling for an illiterate heart, mind fasting for wise viscera.

How florescent of you to never come to fruition.

She brushes her hair, untangles knots soaked in waits that sting her eyes.

Age plows her furrows — those folds she insets with cubic comets and scraps of letters macerated in saltwater; sour remnants of flavors weathered by time.

Because the sea always prevails over the froth, frail, constant, steadfast, still lying along the porous frontiers of the heart.

She untangles the entrails of dawn. The last snarls englut the sky, graze on silver linings, and spit the remaining stars into funnels that contort like ventricles.

At the final quenching weaning her wings she deploys her chest over the wind's embrace. On her breasts, it paints the paleness of nights spent celebrating slumber.

I like talking with you to myself, when hearing me no longer speaks to you, my fingertips turn into logorrhea, your pores are deaf, and my tongue is only good at licking the crack in my meekness.

In the quietness of time spent rotting on the sidewalk, on days when the trashman of egos is on strike - I like believing that your visceral verve will defect from the yawning.

I like unhearing you when, at the other end of the vein, the heart hangs up and I still hear you talking with me to yourself.

When you kiss my hip you kiss the midnight sky, and the wanton moon spreads her fullness, and regrets suddenly have the dainty taste of vowels dipped in your voice.

So I forgive myself for unforgetting the pungency of the fruit that our tongues used to relish; and I swallow, until the last drop, the liquified breaths of all the vain panting that pays us tribute.

At the very first drops of dew, On a misty road of dusk, The asphalt glistening view, Her shiny skin of musk.

Beneath the early streetlights' glow, The lingering eve's water drip, Reminds him of a sweaty flow Tracing curves he longs to sip.

Yet the road still stretches on, Toward their lair, and stretches more. His fluttering heart fetches home Along the miles to her door.

He's scattered sand and she is dune. Her gaze, his black firmament. His itch, stars' spark, and she is moon, His night's golden filament.

He joins her where they celebrate The rise of their constellation. Their destinies of renegade Entwined is their consolation.

Their hideaway is the dark Until the rays of sun, voyeur, Lurk through the dawn, and stalk The lines merged shadows blur.

You were there all along

watching me

like a fate.

Vernal cycles of rebirth

a colorful reminder of

the shelf life of our illusions.

Warm fleetingness in grey perpetuity;

the dusk is long and steady

like our inability to unlearn.

A sky of memory bubbles - blue

fluff that fills the breach of oblivion

oneiric vision embedded in fears

& fire & fusion on a bed of tears

you read decrees you breed

bold on credos you sold

& I bought an oath you told

codes you scribble and shout

for the price of a line

never thrown out

I see it coil around you like a spiral, without ever touching you. An air of barbed wire, anger behind masks. Anger towards her or towards himself. There's a certain hold on you. Or a surveillance. There's wariness. Creativity used to quench primal needs. There's action and little self-reflection; it's someone else's fault, or something like that.

Neck creases don't decrease

the craving for neck

to realize that

you wanted to get rid of me only

to get rid of yourself.

A permanent solution to temporary problems.

Sometimes, in order to see the light, you have to risk the dark.

I am that old woman with nothing on her bones.

I could easily forgive his pride, if he had not mortified mine.

Once you do something, you never forget, even if you can't remember.

No dream is ever just a dream.

Happiness is just a teardrop away.

Give yourself up and find yourself again.

Tell me now about entanglement.

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A little poem using quotes from 10 favourite movies, as invented by @definegodliness