A cave hums into life,

as if filled with millions of bees

Glowing wandering Liongoddess

shines her eyes into the dark,

piercing the imaginary hive

A snarl, a huff, a lick, a soft paw

With retracted claws rises…

Golden fur and honey eyes,

recognition flows with excited buzz

the cave hums into the night

tightening into alignment

The moon’n stars, and the sleeping sun

and all the light from the passage way

the goddess goes, a step at a time

rays after silvern strings push her up

into the ripped fabric of the world

her golden figure vanishing into the ripple

of her own dreams…

Love, isn’t it?

Love, isn’t it?

All deadly things possess cruel beauty.

For soul, a hungry fire, consuming duty-

for eyes, charcoal and diamonds,

for voice, a guttural growl, then silence.

For skin, a hot summer night ‘n bright stars.

Light headed music oozing from cheap bars…

All deadly things possess magnetic pull.

You bite trouble, poison just a mouthful,

better you nibble, or lick…. Kiss! Try’n inhale.

Immune to that rush? Don’t worry, you’ll fail.

Tingling under your fingers, a nervous tic,

Lips on lips, teeth meeting with a click…

All deadly things make you sincere…

So greedy, so wolfish, so ready to disappear.

Pic: Love is the Beast, by ROMANS

…old enough.

…old enough.

I’m old enough, to wake up with pain,

old enough to confess my love in vain;

old enough that my opinion doesn’t count,

that I worry, an irresponsible amount…

I’m old enough to wake up with regret,

with all the small things, that make me fret.

I’m old enough, I got graying hair,

old enough that I’m soaked in despair…

It carved wrinkles into my face,

under my skin,  it took all the space…

I’m old enough to hear my dreams dying sigh

I’m old enough, my tears have run dry…



pic by author, flower seller in Funchal, Madeira

burnt clay, melted iron

Bound and chained to motion

entirely rooted to living stones…

I am burnt clay.

Hot salty iron shone

rusting under golden light…

I am melted iron.

Light from a chemical fire

lit with eyes, ideas and views…

Who planted this perception of me?

Why did it grow to be nothing like me?

And then, breathing the night,

transpiring the day…

Change is coming this way.