Land of Ginjinha
A Poem about a distant memory of a Ginjinha-fueled day in Lisbon, Portugal
Heartbreakers glide the blues
Nothing but tied-up shoes
No excuses to lose
Restless souls trail for clues
Drifting clouds hilltop views
Giver of smoke to ruse
Wanderlust murmur coos
Blazing light to seduce
Blood lips cherry-soaked hues
Savage kisses of fools
Loving child of jewels
Mighty ruins of rules
“Ginjinha or simply Ginja, is a Portuguese liqueur made by infusing ginja berries in alcohol and adding sugar together with other ingredients, with cloves and/or cinnamon sticks being the most common. Ginjinha is served in a shot form with a piece of the fruit in the bottom of the cup.” (Source: Wikipedia)
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Musings of a Muse
Hello, Anna is my earthly given name.
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His Haibun
He does not like poetry; I write it anyway and do not tell him. It's true his face is not a poet's face. It is round and open, youthful; too apt to be compared to the sun. His nose is neat. It is impossible to imagine him smoking a cigarette, terse, full of cheekbones and tension. His warmth burns my fingertips. I am here for his fascinating body, the haphazard freckles I touch one by one; he is here for my eyes, just my eyes. A sunbeam sneaks through the curtains and pierces us both, sizzling the spices of his skin. I inhale and wrap myself in him. He kisses my eyes.
By TheSpinstress6 days ago in Poets
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