My piece “Dematerialization” published by Spillwords Press #prose #short prose #Gabriela M #Gabriela Marie Milton

It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.

You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.

I am every breath you take in your nights of love when …please continue reading here

You can read my Spillwords Author of the Year Interview 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.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

My new piece “Exiled” published by Indian Periodical #poem #prose poem #short prose

You, evening of ours, how beautifully your lips tasted; stars in your unbraided hair spread over still waters like lily pads; rosy skin like the flesh of a pink grapefruit freshly open.

I still can breathe in your aromas of cherry flavored cigars and sleepless expectations.

Exiled under this oak tree…

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.

image:  Anna Ismagilova; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

the child to be #poem #prose poem #short prose #short story

I cut my hair.

I put it in a bag made of white silk.

Skies succeed one another.

The third one descends upon me.

It’s Wednesday; the day of red carnations.

Your blood vessels kill my dreams like algae blooms kill fish.

From Thursday – why are you one sky ahead of me? –  your voice curls in every cell of my body.

The child will be born face up. He will watch the stars on their way to nowhere. 

I shudder. My breath heaves. Milky moonlight descends upon my breasts.

What child?

On Friday you reply.

The one we’ll make when we meet on Sunday.

My nails dig into my left thigh. My blood smells like carnations.  It ought to be still Wednesday. It can’t be Friday. Friday smells like Rose de Grasse d’Or.

What are you talking about? We do not meet on Sundays. I sew clothing on Sundays.  In fact, we never meet.

Your voice comes from Monday.

Our child to be. The one who has a bishop as a grandfather. The one you know no other love but ours can bore. The one who will contemplate the stars on their way to nowhere.

I take my hair from the bag.

I start placing it back on my head.

It must be Tuesday.

 

excerpt from my manuscript Remembrance of Love (working title)

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

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

The Violin of Love #poem #poetry #prose poem

The air is still like the minutes before confession.
The cloak shrouds me.
On the second breath of the Easter of Roses I walk to the outskirts of your love.
A violin exults fires upon darkness.
In one single stoke your passion consumes and shuns me.
The chambers of my heart resound.
Reds prevent you from understanding how much I love you.
Double stop.
Movements.
My eyes are the eyes of the Sphinx 
I wait.

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, can be ordered here.

Thank you.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Summer Love #poem #poetic prose #short prose

That summer love burned us until our skin became tranquilized.

We were ready to receive.

None of us cared about the danger of the thousand apples from which we bit.

Poetry?

Oh, poetry was too good to be read.

We tasted it and ate it with silver spoons.

All filtrations of the mind and senses hid in small apple bites and scented flowers.

By dusk we exhausted everything with our breath.

The children’s voices vanished into the dark.

The doubt of too much spilled between us like ashes from a broken urn.

Summer love.

 

featured image: Separisa; Shutterstock; [link]

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

Destined to replace #poem #poetic prose #short prose

I could detect the taste of the city on your lips.

The city and her languorous afternoon we spent in bed.

Every evening at 6 pm the chords of your guitar used to grow rose buds.

Sheer sunsets imprinted on our bodies.

Streets, labyrinths of gray cobblestones, dying in the orange light only to be revived later in the night by the steps of lovers desperately calling each other like song sparrows, brown streaks through each eye.

You said if I leave, I would become a stranger to the city. Did you mean to your lips?

I looked at the clock. Its hands showed no time. I answered:

How interesting. Strangers are always destined to replace.

By the little colored stall where ice cream was sold in the summer your guitar shed its notes: rose petals in the remnants of a cold wind.

excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]

 

My poetry collection, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here.
Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@short- prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: agsandrew; Shuterstock; [link]

Sahara #poem #poetry #poetry collection

The water bucket was brought by a woman.
She left.
Her child needed to be fed.
Sands.
The time comes from nowhere and goes nowhere.
Between my thirst and this bucket of water,
Between the consciousness of man and that of the stars,
Matter passes from blue to gold.
Sahara
Tonight
Your love gives way to his.

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, can be ordered here.
Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

dematerialization #poem #prose poem #short prose

shutterstock_251593474

It was a sort of dematerialization that left behind the scent of orange blossoms and the vague memory of sultry afternoons growing by the margins of the pond: those afternoons in need for seed germination. I am sure you can remember them.

You and your love for me which have always looked for my blood. I told you I am air and therefore I do not have a body. I fill the space in which other bodies manifest themselves.

I am every breath you take in your nights of love when you think you love other women.  Have you ever noticed how blue and humid is the air you breathe between two kisses? That’s me.

Oh, I agree. Sometimes I may look like plum lips and other times like tiny specs of red wine sprinkled on your shirt. Those are the times when the moon is full, and the cicadas’ wings listen to the vibrations coming from the membrane of their own abdomens.

It’s summer: pink roses, fresh lips, quiet balconies.

May I have my black nightgown back? I want to feel its silkiness against my skin.

Oh, you are right.

I do not need it. I do not have a body.

Is it my imagination or your breath just got heavier?

excerpt from my book in progress: Remembrance of Love [working title]

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, is available on Amazon here.

The following is an excerpt from a review of Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings written by Fabian Bats. I do not know him. His review is voluntary. Fabian’s words brought tears in my eyes.  I am humbled and deeply honored by his review. His efforts to understand the semiotic of my poetry brought me to my knees.

“The first poem is my favorite in the book; it took a few re-reads to grasp, but when I did, I instantly thought to myself “Genius!”

After my first read, I had no clue what I had just read, “what is the link between the title and the poem?”, I thought, racking my head and moving on to the next poem, hoping for less murky waters to swim in -at the start of the book, it is humorous, I know. However, when I came back to read it again, and started seeing links, I felt butterflies, I marveled at the beauty of the words chosen and how a particular figure of speech was used here or there, and when the stars aligned in my mind, I saw clearly that the author was referring to the night of a honeymoon (it could mean a host of other things to other readers, simply because poetry is art). From this point onward, it was difficult to put the book down.”

You can read the entire review here

Thank you.
Love
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

In the dark, a rose #poem #love poem #prose poem

Scars left by the teeth of the soul.
A dove turns black.
A crow turns white.
Inversion.
A serpent coils around a tree.
No daylight left.
I say I love you and I lift my eyes toward the moon.
In the dark a rose contours the shape of my left thigh.
Oh, you are here.
I thought so.

My book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, can be ordered here.
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Soyka; Shutterstock; [link]