Prizes, consolatory ones. I can name a few The big ones are treasures beyond riches They are named love, hope, dreams And in their eyes, Our humanity reflects back at us, —the best gift. No matter the mood: They are accessible So You open the chest You expect Pandora, We are trained for the worst, after all: Fight or flight, all a fright But instead, you get —festival of the highest order A loud moonless night engulfed by the Milky Way And Earth’s buzzing darkness At once dangerous with its Silvery lichen, Vulnerable, finally, with its Green, soft night moss Nature’s rave Our Universal dance All that is known, the biggest expanse Laid right there, bare before your feet Begging for your touch But instead of plucking off The smallest piece, One star Or even a twinkle Knowing that’s all you’d get An...
I have a playlist with your initials Music for a muse It goes from melancholic, to maudlin, to nostalgic to laughable Sometimes in one beat, or less Fast as a hummingbird drinking clear Sugary nectar Wings flutter (Many times, it’s a slow oily candle Burning at more than one end Still somehow frenetic, frantic) Like these words I type That inevitably end in sentences, Engine purring: you Over and over again, a bene-addiction Drawing breath in to savor the savior last syllable, throttle released… When I am on you, drug of choice I feel safe, in each gear No matter the speed. And while I am not a prayerful woman, I know how to knee-down (As you knew) On each speckle freckle in gravel, Stardust maps to villages souls travel Until they get it right.
—> Tightened grip on the bow Head on swivel No capacity for dreamy drivel Graphic avenger Novice huntswoman Apples, deer hearts, daggers, and mirrors Looking for Any sign: Tea leaves Fortune cookie Shooting star: That she shouldn’t release The arrow. Her back: a toned, tuned Maple violin Also bowed, always arching Chest out, nipples rigid The taught space Between her fingers, Sweat proof, carnelian resin grip Ready to strike But she does not loose Instead she points down, turns tail and mane Making her way for higher ground Flood gates are opening And hooves aren’t fins
you weren't pissed; you were just ready; i'm moving to DC - shoot me an email! I'd love to be back in touch: ryanmbyrnes@gmail.com
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