Splitting image, one sun mounts another, cradled in nuptial fire. Advertisements
Light’s slow, basking crush on the sea’s shimmied wavelengths– A sunset affair.
The sky, a photographic illusion, a veiled overlay, which the sun, in this starring instance, burns through from behind, creating a pinhole aperture through which one can vision proof of eternity, and its unending volumes of light.
My stubborn when growing sawteeth fierce as fuck rails against the moon and sun and sea and me bracing that double-edged notion to have to hold in trying to shape the music of air into something that leaves behind a … Continue reading
To possess, in eyes leveling a raised smolder, here, there are no rules or fences, only a blatant running of stitches to the sun’s sheerest mend.
Mercy Street runs lengthwise to the sun. Its soul, to orient, turns its nearest cheek to flaring palms.
Sun, drizzling pink onto the rim of the tub– Lady, soaked, warms up.
One of those days, sun bathing in elliptical gold– No clouds to obscure.
Maned blessings of sun, honored by fugitive brush– Love’s feral design.
