He #flash fiction #short prose #manuscript excerpt #love

He acted like what he was: one of the most handsome and wealthiest bankers of the city.

Nightly candlelight parties in his villa whose balconies opened toward the ocean. Château Mouton Rothschild Pauillac: deep reds and an unmistakable taste of eucalyptus. Coquilles Saint-Jacques, escargots, Provencal fish stew whose aroma imbibed the corridors from lazy late afternoons until early mornings when it was replaced by that of coffee and freshly baked croissants.

It was an act. He looked like a man who while sleeping with one woman thought of another. Teeth planted in warm lips in an eerie absentness of mind; nothing less than automatism. His entire being was consumed by something else, something as imperative as the birth of a child: the naked vision of a woman whom he could not have.

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.

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

adiós #poem #poetic prose #short prose

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)

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)

Self-indulgence #poem #poetry #prose poem #short prose

 

The smell of freshly baked bread in the nights when the ocean howls.

The moon’s eyes linger on my neck.

The kitchen is hot.

Your eyes rest on the buttons of my dress.

One eye faces the sacred.

The other craves for the profane.

I call into being the taste of that which is hidden below the existence.

Touches.

Self-indulgence.

The breath of a salty ocean on the skin.

Everything is here between primal and the infinity of possibilities: the epistemes of love; the essence of beauty; the whispers of a language you cannot understand.

You need me in your bones.

The moon needs me in her naked light.

 

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:  Mariia aiiraM; 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)

Moonlight Love #poem #prose poem #short prose #poetry collection #reviews

Bones, blood, flesh trapped in a brilliant moonlight.

The sand of the shore carried faraway by translucent tongues of water.

Around me the mint grows taller than the trees; lassitude turning from gold to red.

Eyes become the locus where the desert and the sea meet.

Imprinted on my body the number twelve; the twelve horses of the sun-chariot.

He, the seller of time, looks at me.

His voice penetrates the membranes of my cells.

One hour of impossible love for two dimes.

I, who can foresee the future, buy.

The hour wraps around my hips like a passion vine around a tree.

For a second you, the lover of the visible world, hesitate.

Streets inundated by the sweet smell of citrus.

Arms hugging a void.

You cannot eat that citrus and you cannot touch me.

Moonlight love, remind me, why did I buy you?

 

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

image: Liliya Kulianionak; 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]

My Book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, featured in San Francisco Book Review #book review

We desperately want to love, to possess each other, caught in a perpetual rush to justify our existence.
Yet there is no love that can fully satisfy us. The passions of the flesh get exhausted in bed. What is left is exhausted by our imagination.

Excerpt from my book Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings [on Amazon here].

My Dear Friends,
Thank you to everyone who reads my work. Your support means the world to me.  Below please find the review of my book, Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings, in San Francisco Book Review.

The series transports us on a journey of love as much as it delivers us a thematically diverse set of emotions. This is a superb collection.”
Bobbie Peyton

Please read the entire review here.

Thank you.
Love.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image: Liliya Kulianionak; Shutterstock; [link]

Indulgence #poem #poetic prose #short prose #review #poetry collection

Skeletal fragments of coral and mollusks glued by calcite.

Limestone giving birth to grays, beige, and blue.

Your eyes as green as the grass on the dewy morning when slithering snakes were driven into the sea.

Tears on your cheeks. I wipe them with my palms.

The desire to rebuild your soul. I cannot stop it.  I am like those women who think that their naked thighs and transparent negligées can fix a broken heart. In fact, I am worse than them.  I think I can fix your soul.

I love you. Yet, my instincts are those of a simple worshiper of reality. There is no sanctity in them.

Oh, indulgence of the self, how ignorant we are.

My poetry collection Passions: Love Poems and Other Writings featured in San Francisco Book Review. 

Love.
Gabriela

@short-prose-fiction (Gabriela Marie Milton)

image:  Sandratsky Dmitriy; Shutterstock; [link]