THE WAR IS OVER, OR SO THEY SAY & he, the sastrugi amidst susurrations ; A SHADOW OF YESTERDAY. the empyrean becomes colder & colder, & the coquelicot fields abloom in the aphotic hours unfurl with FLESH FORGED FLOWERS. they wilt, wither & wrox. these DYING LIGHTS from nocuous nights, bedevil the earth to be archaic in dust dipped mirth ; you & i, the days she must watch die, becomes older & older. springtide’s sudor, awakened upon her skin akin to mourning dew. the athesis of her limned amoret, the kiss of kismet attainted from an ode to WINTER’S WOUNDS, ( exposed in the eoan. frost bite to incarnadine tender edges, the marriage, the marring of streams of ichor spilling from arrhizal seams. she, a mouthful of a saccharine cherry, the devil’s delight ). her handwriting is plangent, plumbless as poesy, lines the viduage of shattered verglas ; HEARTBREAK. this is the azimuth of her adieu.
i hope this letters finds it’s way to you. everything has changed, just within a few days. spring is here. even the poppies call your name, it’s amusing, i know, but they remind me of when we met. all the troops have pulled back, what’s left of them. it feels so empty, i don’t know this country anymore. ivan, & i, we’re heading to st. petersburg soon. he said it’ll be safer, i don’t know if anywhere is safe anymore. i hope your journey returning home is safe, my darling & i pray the western front treats you well, i can’t imagine the bloodshed there. i pray but my heart bleeds for this world, for you. please, write back soon. i miss you.
truthfully yours,
natalia.
summer is here, you’ll be happy to know that. i know how much you hated the cold. i’m dreading the winter, i’m sure it’ll feel colder without you to keep me warm. i still hope these are finding their way to you, across the sky, across the seas. the world must be bigger than i thought. i hope you’re happy, my love & that the land of the free is treating you well. perhaps, my face is just a memory to you, the woman that stitched you up & saved you from this hell. maybe one day, in spring, i’ll be yours again. is it strange to miss a voice ? i fear yours is escaping me with every passing day, every passing night.
i know, even ivan doesn’t doubt it ; i know one day i’ll see you again. i miss you.
THE WAR IS LONG OVER, & so is the muliebrity in the meas flourishing in mid-may. the hymeneal of the hypoborean, inhumed by the lungs of the seasons. alight amidst the algor. she, pyrrhic, puccoon & a burgeon to burn as purgatory’s prey. gelid gusts unravel her uloids, she bleeds, she bleeds. the heart of the alpenglow. she rusts, she rusts.
the trees have changed colour. winter is here. it’s cold again. you wouldn’t like it, maybe it’s best that you’re not here. i can’t bare to see you hurt again. here, in the city, nobody speaks of the war. there are bigger problems. i remember. i’ll always remember. i will always remember you. i was right, it is colder without you. perhaps baba yaga is teaching me a lesson. there are many things i wish i could tell you, but some words are better left unsaid. i know i’ll tell you these stories when we next meet —— whenever that may be. it’s nice to see the stars again. they’re no longer clouded by smoke & the crossfire. they spell your name but give me no roads to follow. i miss you, i ——
THE WAR IS NOT OVER, blood stains, inflames & CAN’T BE WASHED AWAY. the ink smudges. the dole of boreal starved hands, THE LAMENTS OF THE LANDS & the sea girt of sorrows strangling a forlorn soul. their war, it can never end. gunfire breeds balefire, the unsullied scent of their eld in her air. the paper is wrought to her palm, buried. another piece of rubble to the ruins. it can never end, she can never forget. the dripping of dawn from her lips, the death of poppies & they weep, VULNEROSE, an act for her to pretend.
prguitarman
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
