jenmendezart

How do I lie at the base of your sunset And ride your song Wandering into the ever-changing sky? Motion with its harmonious intent Not always pleasing nor easy Of all my senses availed to thee Your brush shapes within my ancient eye Drifting away on journeys Familiar And other And sometimes singing a glorious praise Or dirges of the fallen Dark and murdered Their thousand cries to heaven's stare Or whispers of the autumn leaf Float to the ground and whirl In a silent current dry and brittle Those secret places Discounted unworthy places Their imaginary mediocrity Until she removes her veil Revealing eyes so boundless

Your twilight touch Reveals centuries bathed in cerulean swirls Releasing my violet and indigo Suffusion complete within these downy bonds Willing Ties that cannot be undone Freely secured beyond my final breath As Night arises from Dawn's prismatic couch I present a parting hand Bathing you in rosy light and softened skin As you part in lovely darkness This heart is full And this mind prudent to Your brown depths Twin gazes tender and unencumbered Filled with expectant promises unspoken From the imprint of your lips Answered by my own

His layers he professed were simple. For I am a simple man He said. As our joyful encounters Lie between the welcome hurt of longing. We sing their bittersweet sorrows Of this modest dance of love My desire To adopt a gentle posture bent naked and whisper my entreaties into your passionate ear Love, Permit these curls to drift upon the currents of your abandon in waves of light and dark plumbago. Rest your brow upon my palm of ease And wonder at the Peace of contentment cradled in the warmth of our skin. Lift your gaze into mine and Taste of these magic drops Placed from my mouth to yours Lifted from a fingertip

His eyes sprung open as the anvil of heat pressed heavy against his throat.  On a mattress drenched with sweat, his nightshirt clung, itchy and old.  Not even the blue-watered walls will quench the promise of the day seen beyond the solitary frame in the far wall. The frame. The frame that holds a thousand masterpieces of the chameleon landscape.  He curses as his bare feet touch the floor. No icy winter chill reminds him he is still alive. He wipes his brow with the back of an oily sleeve. Beyond the cell, beyond the frame, the endless golden fields carve a special hollow place in his gut.  Stripping naked in the center of the chamber, no b

She tossed the book into the dedicated charity pile. The corner of a forgotten, ivory-faded program and a newspaper clipping caught her eye in their flight. The program was brittle in her hands as she gently turned it over, squinting at the inscriptions. Scribbled autographs and congratulations on the performance. The names and faces long forgotten, slowly recalled as she deciphered their handwriting. She tucked her legs beneath her on the hardwood floor and was transported to the paneled drawing room — tinkling champagne flutes, nose-wrinkling smells of heavy theatrical makeup, and trains of costumes sweeping across the floor of the final c

Wayland drove his sword into the ground before him and sank wearily against an old birch. The stench of death burned his nostrils, catching in the back of his throat - choking him. He was chilled with blood from his enemies who had fallen upon his sword and sticky with blood of his kinsmen, who lay slain and wasted upon the morning field.    The mist smoldered, abandoning any distinction of the gray horizon. A distant call of carrion birds sang an eerie hymn for the fallen. Wayland lowered his chin to his chest and wept for the vanquished. His battle-marked hands glistened wet with tears. Anguished tears, born from a growing hollow in the pi

Oh child of Eisenach your chest rises proud, A contemporary child frolics among your melancholy chords. Did you sit with sun warming the apples of your cheeks while your children crossed the meadows in gleeful abandon? See bonnet strings fly behind sunkissed curls Yet-unlined hands tag a linen shoulder Did you spread thick cream on your bread as their spring laughter danced above the pasture? White palms offer sticky sweetmeats Your belly churns hollow and cold under the blessed rays Deny aging loneliness with their company, Gather the tender lambs nigh your downy blanket Keep them near always.