Discover Top Posts Tagged with #written 2023

△ To love a penstemon,

a mushroom,

pussytoes,

peppergrass,

salsify,

brooklime,

wintergreen,

goldenbean,

yourself —

you must love a fleeting thing.

Cherish a fleeting thing.

Watch a fleeting thing die. Decay. Shapeshift.

Brave the cycle all over again.

So why love at all?

I can't convince you.

I can only remind

you what you already know:

Life is no promise but change.

But love?

Love threads life and death and grief,

touching every liminal space.

If you let it, love suffuses each breath,

flooding your cells with purpose,

whispering reasons

to keep wonder, curiosity,

kindness through it all.

Love is the life-richness,

the fresh-brewed espresso

that makes tiramisu, tiramisu.

The startling flashes of iridescent

hummingbird in the aspen.

The texture and shape of

your partner's hands —

depth and dimension in symbiosis with

life's transience, loneliness, loss.

Love is a lantern in the darkest

of nights, burning with brazen hope.

Love knows life and appreciation

stretch beyond one form,

beyond this rot,

beyond the next rebirth.

Love is the power to hold deep

presence and care,

across life and death.

To hold pain with compassion.

To weather each thing.

Love is the secret.

Love is not fleeting.

If you're attuned to it,

love is right here, right now,

always. △

#personal #poetry #mine #written 2023 #spilled ink

(1021) surging/devouring

surging, devouring; a tide of electric sparks bloom at my fingers. i want to use them to surge, to release a lightning coil. \\\ gently urging, with crooked fingers. coaxing moans, whimpers; from parched throats. \\\ i cradle your dissolved self anchoring you until you, melting, drip into presence. then, parting your lips, i begin dessert.