My Dear Readers,
My poem “the breath of love and death” was voted Publication of the Month at Spillwords Press (November 2019).
My most sincere thanks to everyone who voted for me.
Have a fabulous week.
@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela M.)
emotions leave the wombs of souls
nakedness of pearls forgotten on the shore
inside the warmth of the unknown
the mystery of you is locked
somebody’s wearing yellow, sign of death
the ocean’s mortuary room
your hands stretch all the waves toward the North
my ankles stuck in sand
hibiscuses bloom in the bed
a cat is running outdoors
over the world
the breath of love and death
a verse from you
image: nodff; Shutterstock; [link]
I hope you do not expect me to greet you.
I do not greet takers and parasites. The sins of takers – who laugh in the faces of those who give – cannot be expiated.
Oh, you pray God! To whose God do you pray?
Who’s the God of an empty box?
Your actions are similar to those of others. Perhaps too similar.
Don’t confuse your emptiness with the majesty of death.
This August is too hot.
@short-prose-fiction. all rights reserved.
image: CARACOLLA; Shutterstock; [link]
Thoughts: as long as they inhabit my mind, they are alive.
Yet too often they climb down on paper to meet their own death.
I guess I am responsible for that, am I not?
Excerpt from the manuscript “Glass Lovers”
fears of death
strangled in the heat of our palms
our bodies scratched by silver bracelets
glide onto passion’s desperation curve
go beyond the locus of the flesh
kill our caricatures which people call reality
light ferocious fires on the altar of the gods
in rituals we burn to ashes our fears
dry into the smell of lilac
ah, i forgot to tell you when i meet you in my dreams
Arabella still sells bracelets in the silver market
she asks me every time about you
while lizards run their greens into the nearby parkette
i lie and promise her you’ll come next time
to buy another bracelet and some juicy limes
now in the silence of long purple nights
the silver bracelets do not hurt my flesh at all
but every minute you are not with me
cuts yet another wound
into my soul
image: Zolotatevs; Shutterstock; [link]