Tag Archives: longing

Partitions

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading

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Dawn

Between lisping partitions of rain we ache. We long. It has been called this mortal longing this calculation of histories of distances. We seek the symmetries of lost hours in threads of rain falling graying glaring we reach between to … Continue reading

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Fade

It has been called this mortal longing and we have all hailed there all ached there swearing. Between lisping partitions of rain we seek phantom threads blue gray promising to guide us down unmarked roads to deepening distances. Seeking being … Continue reading

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Affair to Remember

Sea, I never want to marry you. I want us to have a never-ending fling, a love affair flooded with longing and desire … I want to miss you … want to remain missably yours … want to miss you … Continue reading

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As Below, So Above

She came to me when I was a child. When I was two. An angel with massive wings which, when extended, generated a musical whoosh and siege of air that felt like a hurricane to my small world. My small … Continue reading

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Giantess

Between bewildered, and the wildest seasons of time and longing, she derived dreamily the spatial pulse of God’s somnolent core.

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Fly by Night

Longing does not require a precedent, or even a known catalyst. It is, in its purest form, the solvent call of homesickness, which is why our hearts, in their cause and breaking, claim the smallest birds as stars, and the … Continue reading

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There Was a Time

Coiled within the echo and ceremony of longing, I tremble between memory’s flitting tease of my belly and hers, how they almost touched, erring a slow burn course by which the word made flesh could stalk itself, from a favored … Continue reading

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Cosmic Lay Slick astronomy, moonlight drips between her thighs– The lay of space, mine.

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Peony

This peony is an empty house/ In which each of us recaptures night. —Jean Laroche In the panting still of night, a peony, trembling, fragrant, blushing bright against the dark matted vines of memory, in which lovers, tangled and throbbing, … Continue reading

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