Wordless Wednesday

Frida Kahlo Exhibit Entrance Introductory Piece. The North Carolina Museum of Art, Raleigh, NC

Waiting For The Right Moment to Breathe

A Love Sonnet

Gerti Schiele mit Haarmasche by Egon Schiele–1910

My love, forgive me for those stupid words
I should have thought things through, yes, you were right.
My gifts, nestled on flighty wings of birds
Should be penance enough for one less fight.

Though the days grow darker, we have much time
To sift through pictures, through memories of old.
And cherish this love, these feelings sublime,
Welcoming passion–so giddy, so bold.

I beg of you, your hand, place it in mine,
We have dreams to escape and lives to build.
For loving you, I shall never decline,
We’re two within one, a legacy’s guild.

So love, hear me out, please do not deny
I’m waiting to breathe after this last cry.

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 #1.

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.

a conversation about love

Woman tying on a hat by Edgar Degas–1884

me: how can you be sure this is love?
her: she smiles every time she sees me.
me: oh, but couldn’t it just be a delight to see you?
her: I know love when I feel it. I ache at the sight of her.
me: that sounds more like a belly or headache than it does love.
her: don’t you remember, Tre? that’s exactly what love feels like.
me: silence.