not afternoon tea

A Love Sonnet

Afternoon Tea by Alice Bailly-1927

the divine women of cedar creek lie,
they make up stories and tell tales all day.
bemoaning love and lust, three of them sigh,
“what more can a mere woman do,” they say.

their naked bodies flailing in the sun,
each has her own way of being in tune
with nature, with heaven–things on the run,
with them, the best month for this is sweet June.

“and why should we worry, we’ve all we need?”
one says as she sips on afternoon tea.
“society’s issues can’t harm my creed,
I’m happier now than I’ll ever be.”

these women of cedar creek, they mean well,
of lust and of love, they’re under their spell.


For the next two posts, I’ll be finishing up the sonnets. It has been an extremely long time since I pulled these babies out. Prayerfully, you’ll go easy on me. This is Love Sonnet #5.

The Is Our Time, Love.

A Love Sonnet

Ortachali Beauty by Niko Pirosmani-1918

That stormy night in May, we sweetly kissed,
So beautiful you were and you still are.
Undeniable, not to be dismissed,
This love we have, whether close or if far.

Let it linger in the darkest places,
Calm the hearts of those who are searching still.
Oh, let it wipe the tears from their faces,
And push their tired legs up distant hills.

In your presence, is where I long to be,
Search and you will find me everywhere, love-
This is my one chance, can you set me free?
We’ll reap blessings from the heavens above.

I am yours, you are mine, this should ring true.
It is our time to shine-yes, it is due.


For the next few posts, I’ll be practicing sonnets. It has been an extremely long time since I pulled these babies out. Prayerfully, you’ll go easy on me. This is Love Sonnet #3.

The Universe, Baby

Alicia Espinoza via Mixkit.co

Musical Selection: Art of Noise|Moments in Love

The Universe, Baby

Flash Fiction

She tells her, “You are the Universe, baby. The perfect galaxy. The reason I love the way love feels on me.” She watches. She stares. She loves the way love feels on her too but not everyone is eager to see them flaunting their version of love outside the closet.

“Alice and the rabbit hole, baby. A neverending journey. A hunt for sustenance. Blazing moonlight over cherry trees. I’d never chop you down.” She’s still professing her undying love for her. The charm that lifts itself from her skin and lands on her lips is a ten. A twenty if anyone’s counting. She’s tipping the scales tonight.

“Blue envy. Gray passion. Red all over and yellow inside. I bleed you.” She smiles. She fidgets with her jean jacket, twirls her bossy curls around her index finger, and sets a giggle free. “I would tip a mountain over, my love, if you were on the other side of it.”

Her eyes widen. She steadies her ears on every word leaving her lover’s lips and finally speaks . . .

“If I am all of this you claim, why are we still hiding? Does your mother know my name? Are your sisters aware that roommates is a loose term for what we really are? Did you tell your brother what we do when you’re “on a business trip?”

Silence is thick in the room. She slices it with her words. “The Universe never hides, baby. The Universe doesn’t have to.” She walks away.

Her lover follows her to the kitchen. She watches her hips as they sway. She’s in a trance. Her eyes log her every step. She pulls a thought from the air and shares it with her . . .

“But the Universe knows that living in harmony with everyone takes many sacrifices. It understands that offering itself up on a platter is not how one gets full. Please, let me take small bites until I am ready for more.”

A few pots clang in the kitchen. She’s rummaging through old utensils, searching for a spatula. Her lover’s voice lingers in her ears — on her lips. She stands back on bowed legs and reminds herself . . . reminds her lover . . .

“I am the Universe, baby.”


Originally published in A Cornered Gurlvia Medium.

scorn

Musical Selection|India Arie: That Magic

The Scornful Woman by Egon Schiele — 1910

she’d been hurt before —
this scorned woman who is learning
how to love again — live again.
I sit on my balcony and watch her
carry on with her day as if
the sun woke up just for her.

she saunters to her car,
pulls the door open, and
jumps into it ready for another
day of whatever it is that
she does for a living.

I keep my distance.
I speak when spoken to.
I do not draw good energy from
her, so it is my duty to make sure
our interactions are few.

my monster of a dog shows
her teeth at her shadow,
barks when she strikes the
ignition.
I take heed.

there are some of us who
cannot conjure up
a welcoming spirit — too stuck
in the past to allow ourselves to
witness the future.

too afraid to move forward
and march into something new.
I was where she is and
I remember how my soul
smelled.
I turned people off.

there’s always a bit of
magic around, enough to
push us into the light of day.
I think she will be
okay the moment her
feet touch illuminated ground.

I can’t take her there,
even if I do know the way — these
paths have to be walked
by those who need the journey.

I will, however, make sure
she has someone rooting
for her from the sidelines.
I think my sign is
big enough for her to see.


Originally published via Medium.