the art of sitting
still enough to hear hot blood
pulse through relaxed veins
heart open as wide as ears
there you hear the unspoken
…
some call it reading
between the lines in the space
where dark night meets day
and vast sky meets solid earth
in the gap you dwell astir
…
all difference lost
the utter peace of surcease
instead of your noise
listen to the world listen
complete in symbiosis
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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
The Great Uncoupling of 2229
“I realize there are still aspects of humanity that my kind cannot understand or appreciate….” The soft, airy voice resonating from the orb that trailed Teyhx through the hallway of her dorm pleaded with her to see reason. Though, ultimately, the decision was not hers anyways.
By Adam Clost5 days ago in Futurism
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