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Maybe Suffering Is a Story Taylor Sea

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Nestsick Taylor Sea

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Shared Riddle Taylor Sea

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Dysthymia Taylor Sea

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Old Faith Taylor Sea

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New-death Blue Taylor Sea

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Kintsugi on the Interstate Taylor Sea

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(Named) There is what is (not) and what is missing at the end(?) Empty space means nothing (to me.) Eyes (dark) with delight, teeth and tonguing at (words:) the sweet truth of (no beautiful thing) all the beautiful things.

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Mythmaker-

What majesties can I make you? Name them from your mouth and behold my hands. Richest of rose, fire to the sky in the dark, the sweet swaying together of music and more, myths move in me. Mine of my own, tap your fingers to the stars and see how I shape them. Their stories will come to us in the low burn of morning. When the sun finds your face limned in light through the window, I cannot help but speak it.

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Tender-

She carries a knife with her. Blood of my blood, biter of hands and cornered fangs.

She cuts into me over potatoes, love and vanity. Blade of the very worst day of your life.

My arm stays between us. I can let you no closer. The cold sorrow in your hands that cannot let go when they shake. She is too tired to lift it, now. I can sit with her while I clean the bandage bleeding my good and my evil. Or maybe it has grown too heavy. I cannot look down but there is so much sharpness in me.

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Word of my Mouth-

What did not starve drags Winter by the bones. Budding over with flowers hungry in the light. Lazy as a long-stalked hunt, wild with new magic. Full of bursting edges, calling through the woods that it will feed itself.

I see it in the water. The air still sings if you will listen. I climb into the sky like a nights-lain lake. This love that I have swallowing wilderness wildly growing from my chest. It pours out of my mouth like a sour sickness. I am too full to stomach.

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Eversown-

What untold moments of burial have I, folding over each other like fever hot and suffering in the skin.

What words grow over me? I read myself ragged, even now spoken like breath low against the ear. It can be nothing else. Endless as I pull you from the dirt, endless as you cradle me down. Deeper than summer storms can find, it slips the hollow winter off each year perennial as the grass.

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Leal Autumn-

Tell the cold of the morning the way you come back to me. I know your soul like a lost dog.

Wrung full of rain, licking your hurt up in the dark of your wanting. Do you still long to bite out of your own grin? Starved for the fruit and flesh of living.

Drawn in from the long gray to orange yourself by the fire, I leave water on the steps for your coming.

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Kept Light- Now our hour of warm answers. August in the evening, sun-over-the-hill blue a ceaseless buzzing through the dry grass.

Half-night cupping at your face, darker than shadows, all the way down deeper than light. Pink in the voice, skin run over with sun. We teethe the hours singing violets where we walk. I paint the shape of your shoulders in the yellow passing of cars, ghosting the air like a flashed eye. We find them all over. You pick one from my cheek and place it in my hand like a question on its own.

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taylor-sea

Wake up babe, new Perseids just dropped.

Trespassing in the Court of Summer- You are water for the wind, below the branches swaying with new music, easy in an air bright with sun and greening leaf-light.

My new shoes are black with dirt, but I know you have seen me worse. They will come clean, I say though they might not.

We sit like an old story together in our shared quiet until summer thunder chases us home.

The crack and cry above, and the sighing of trees full of rain, and us saying goodbye like we never left.

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Moonspell- Do you dream of it, too? A breathless heat of July, the moon high and running with us through the trees, a place where the night skies-itself-up over the lake. Wading in the moon off the water, faces freckled-over with stars, we painted this place ourselves. Beyond the reach of even us, no sky-perched god or heron can stoop beneath its branches. They gather in the wet summer black, crying to bow their heads and long for what we made.

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