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persephone Feb 2021
Curled, a cradle, cusping
silky supple soft,
aloft rustling skin
prickling static afterthought.
Nose in, mouth out,
internal furnace burning hot,
bitter winter giving way
to flame that’d dim for naught.
persephone Dec 2020
Now I lay me down to sleep, mind naught but unwound thread,
the nearly risen sun prepared to rear its ugly head.
No mowing, honks, or rooster’s crow, but sounding in their stead:
my racing thoughts, your steady breath, all time suspended here in bed.
I hate getting home so late that I don’t get to see him but he always manages to roll over and wrap an arm around me so I feel comforted while I stare at the ceiling for hours, trying to wind down....
persephone Dec 2020
Thread counted in linen robes,
his thatch of hair an areole.
Armored tight against the world,
with metered calm and stoicism.
Freckles, scars, lashed eyelids.
Both hard and soft,
all that he is.
Yes I am writing another poem about my partner while he sleeps next to me is this getting creepy
persephone Dec 2020
Hazy street lamp light,
illuminating nocturnal spirits or otherwise
the ghost of a fire burning low,
all green tinder and ember,
its tender lain down
for the night.
This post is inspired by a glass of mediocre Cabernet Sauvignon...I don’t even drink reds
persephone Nov 2020
Self-effacing, holy,
a graven image flourishing
in pleasure, or pain.
The hierarchy of mind
oscillating wildly behind
smoke screen, or curtain.
Uncertain mirth blanketing
kinetic barren earth
like ash, or rain.
Oh god we are realizing we exist tonight ladies!!!
persephone Nov 2020
Like a monster
wearing my own skin,
I question yet again
whether the cries I upend
are signs of intelligence or
the incoherent utterances
of an imposter begging
to be let in.
Is this about bipolar or imposter syndrome or both idk but the Wendigo legend always creeps me out to think about
persephone Oct 2020
My diadem, a sovereign crown,
does on your gentle fist lie down
Amidst your fingered palm, affixed,
the beating of a holy sound.

Though betwixt a dormant grip
my heart fears not a fatal slip:
the pacifism of our tenderness
a guard against that wilderness.
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