Creation #poem #prose poem #short prose #book manuscript

How beautiful you made my loneliness with your love letters and your ceaseless colors that burn my eyes every time I look at them.

I am forever in your power because I was brought into this world by your imagination. I am your creation.

I feed on the same sea that nursed us when we were children.

I am the glue that holds together the baked sands stuck on your skin during torrid endless summers.

Sometimes I look like a four-leaf clover sitting on the lapel of your black coat on the 15th of every month.

Other times when it is dark you call me Selena and you make my twelve fingers knead your ecstasies and plant them in whispering tombs.

Your desires are the stage on which I dance, my hair unbraided, my first youth gone, my death date undetermined yet.

I thought nothing was about me. Everything was about you and your mind with its powerful sounds of rapid waves and its one thousand boats anchored in the same port.

Yet at 9am in the morning you said something that made me believe you became possessed by your own creation.

Green deep waters.

Is that true?

excerpt from my manuscript Remembrance of Love (working title)

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

I paid for all the happiness that was bestowed upon us by the Ides of October.
I used to feel the presence of the child all around me.
A woman said I should pick a piece of slough cast by a snake and wear it against my skin.
I did it.
Flushed as a young peach every sunset became a resurrection.
Roses wrapped around my waist and later in June the child was born.

A new October sets our pictures on the Spanish chest.
Emotions animate your cheeks.
Every night above the trees the moon nurses the stars.
When I see cocoons of the larvae, I think silk as soft as the hair of the child.
When I say I love you, I think death as the harbinger of birth.
Your lips tremble and your voice flattens.
I know you love me.
With nude fingers the Ides of October betroth us again.

[Ides as the 15th day in March, May, July, and October according to the Roman calendar]

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

image: Maria Okolnichnikova; Shutterstock; [link]

@Gabriela Marie Milton

I can see the woman who assumes things. Every night she picks the flowers that I throw on the road: withered lilies of the valley. She wants to be me. She wants my blood. She does not know I rearranged the bell-shaped whites so no one else can breathe their sweet scents. No one else can be me. No one else can make you, you.

The woman puts the withered flowers in her bag.

A new moon rises over her left shoulder. Bad luck.

I shiver.

I rush to protect her.

I stumble.

Before he died my father said:

If you try to do justice to the wicked, you will forget to do justice to the virtuous. And if you forget to do justice to the virtuous you only work for yourself. That is the biggest sin of all.

I have to think again.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.
image: Sandratsky Dmitriy; Shutterstock; [link]

@Gabriela Marie Milton

Motto
I get drunk on love, charity, and passion. These are my professions.

I walk into the three days we spent together.

On the first day, a nude silence wraps around my lips. Shortly after I can hear the noise of wine poured into glasses.
The hour to get drunk on love has come.
I touch your skin and another you is born.
Birds invade the sky.
A banquet of candles floods the streets.
A white thread ties my blood vessels at the exact moment when a religious procession walks by.

On the second day, drunk on charity, my sights descend upon the earth.
The dirty hands of the woman who owns wells touch my skin.
I hear your voice.
I will not counsel her or belittle her desires.
All she will do is sell her fake dreams in the corner of an empty street for her entire life.
I forbid you.
By punishing her you would have ruined the very thing you set out to safeguard: our love.

On the third day, stars melt in our palms like soft grapes in winepresses.
The intimations of you and I, with their smell and softness of grass and late autumn roses, invade the room.
A convulsive joy impregnates your eyes.
Words have no pigments and no form. Their register sinks in gravity, shiny coil by shiny coil, musical key by musical key, sleepy touch by sleepy touch.
The perfection of the afternoon’s poplars blesses the air.
Possessed by passions, under the wing of a bird, we died three days ago.

@Gabriela Marie Milton

I fast for nine mornings. On the tenth I walk barefoot toward the water.

The sea nurses the shore like mothers nurse their new babies.

The smell of beach roses and that of salt and sand.

The breeze plays on my neck and undoes the ribbons of my dress.

A wave washes on my body looking for forever; veins filled with my blood which has no expiration date.

I love for nine nights. On the tenth….

Please continue reading here

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela.

your tired feet have walked the desert

thorns and thistles scarred your skin

squirming in a mire

enraged by liars

your nights of passions

felt like the apocalypse

you, bearer of the bleeding hearts

I lock the door

I toss the key out of the window

I drink the sweetest wine

and listen to

the chants of prayers from the faraway Corinth

the walls are gray

the music plays

a yellow sunset lingers on my dress

September speaks

with lips of tango nuevo

with cords of harems with no keys

you, my adulterated love

I light your fire

blindfolded I seek a buyer

for all my sins

for this September blood that I resold

and for the girl who once was me

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Drops of you and me in the winter of our love.

Beneath my vocal cords, fingers knead the tongues of your kisses with the smell of wine.

Our souls dismembered by pasts that do not intersect; creators of a love as elusive as my adiós.

Tea leaves tell our future.

Your steps hang in the streets like the breasts of the earth under a bittersweet sky.

Your face grows washerwoman skin.

The land imprisons me.

I cry.

Las lágrimas del mar.

You and I.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

we ate Czech goulash and dumplings
drank Pilsner and smoked cigarettes
in a garden by St. Nicholas Church
I dragged you with me on a bench
your skin and your kisses were fresh
contouring each other: bark and heartwood
awe-struck we stood and bowed when love came
I saw what one sees in the light
you felt what one feels in the dark
it smelled linden trees and drizzled confetti
we tied our wrists with ropes made of blood
buried our hearts in mountains and rivers
made love on the soul of the seventeen bridges
bathed in the river Bohemia coughed
died the next morning in front of the Castle
and in the City of the Thousand Spires
not even the pigeons noticed a thing

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

If only I could put my palm into yours for one single sunset

when the autumn’s fingers smell corn silk,

and the eyelids of the sea cast spells on the cheeks of the stars.

Bathe with me at the end of the shore

where milk foam washes the feet of the children

and leaves traces of white shivers.

A pink conch tolls the waves announcing the homecoming of the chrysanthemums.

The pain of birth leaks prayers on your lips

like half naked Sundays leak monotony and coolness

on the yellow walls of the old city.

From the other side of your naked eyes,

I gather your tears in a wicker basket.

Laurel leaves hide under your pillow.

If only…

Autumn…

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings is available on Amazon here .
Passions featured in San Francisco Book Review
Passions featured in Manhattan Book Review.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela.

image: Velenty, Shutterstock, oil painting.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

My Dear Readers,

I was not planning to post today but news came last night that my poem “Son of the Desert” (by Gabriela M) was nominated for Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press NYC.

Congratulations to all nominees!

You can read my poem here.

Please vote here.

You don’t need a Spillwords account to vote though it is easy to open one. You can vote with your Twitter or your FB account.

I will be delighted to have your vote. However, you should feel free to vote for whomever you think is deserving. All nominees are fantastic writers.

The voting will begin on the 26th of each month at 12:00am Easter Time
The voting will last for 4 Days.

On November 2019 my poem The Breath of Love and Death was voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords.
In the beginning of 2020 I was voted Author of the Year at Spillwords Press. You can read my Author of the Year interview here.

Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Category: poetry

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