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Literature
Six Word Story
my mother kept smiles in bottles
Literature
I Have No Names for all My Teacup Babes
I feel always like I am starting over.
As a magpie I gather trinkets under my pillow,
bay leaves and bags of herbs to bring the next lover to me,
to call the next dream-face forward—a picture
painted in the tea leaves.
But truth be told the start-again
is never clean, is never gentle,
and the sweat of all that labour
is a fire on my skin, telling me
I will never resist its wind-cry.
The moon comes when I call, to help me;
midwife, she is, and she carries into being my new selves
like the babes they are, teaches them to
fill long footsteps like hers.
Truth be told, I tire of the destiny
I was given once—I am a teacup
Literature
fumes
the talk
of my
heart
unfurls,
wisps
of smoke
tangled in my voice,
strangled along your chest;
tonight we spend our seconds
deliquescing our desires
i
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So intense, so evil :faints: :amblulance: It was a really good story, thruth be told