Wordless Wednesday
Tag: Women
soup
I remind myself
that long days and
cold nights are just
pieces of you leftover
from worn love.
I used to sip you,
cool you before tasting
every morsel.
you were soup–
I longed to savor
every drop.
I remember
the taste of you
more than I do
anything else.
not afternoon tea
A Love Sonnet
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.
primed
his fingers pluck a
melody for her heart.
the sweetest song fills the air.
p r i m e d . . .
on a cold, Winter’s morn,
she falls in love
with him
again.
The Universe, Baby
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.
