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Literature Text
It's the gaze of the June sun
assessing you,
your misted skin an ember hue-
a hand across your brow.
It's the breath of the warm air
when first light cotton slides;
it's the lap of the cold sea
against your toes.
You feel it higher than your knees and so
you let the next soft something go
from the place that the close heart knows;
it's entry gained by heat and sigh
till nothing's left to cast aside-
old skin for new, wet wings untried,
chrysalis and butterfly.
assessing you,
your misted skin an ember hue-
a hand across your brow.
It's the breath of the warm air
when first light cotton slides;
it's the lap of the cold sea
against your toes.
You feel it higher than your knees and so
you let the next soft something go
from the place that the close heart knows;
it's entry gained by heat and sigh
till nothing's left to cast aside-
old skin for new, wet wings untried,
chrysalis and butterfly.
Literature
Uprising
They move as one in the dark, twenty furry bodies shifting and writhing against each other in a single, perfectly coordinated unit. Their digging claws are wrapped in thick felt, war ribbons, masking their progress as they pour through the abandoned tunnels in perfect silence. Art’k breathes deep and bares his teeth with savage pride. His team has trained well. Their musk is so strong it will be impossible for the enemy to pinpoint their position. As they approach a juncture Art’k flares his scent folds and releases a coded message, a scent so subtle that it may as well have been a drift of sand. His team understands. Main unit, hold position. Skrth’k, scout ahead. Skrth’k detaches himself from the tightly packed ball of writhing bodies and scurries down the leftmost tunnel without hesitation. Their musk is so powerful Art’k doesn’t even smell him leave but he trusts Skrth’k. When this is all over, Skrth’k will mate with his daughters, he will make sure of it. But that is after.
Literature
What Things Cost
What Things Cost the best things in life are the farthest thing from free; they cost everything i know this as i wake up, aching in the same position we eased back down to earth in; powering down, still entangled we do adjust, eventually, but not away and i focus just long enough into the dark, to realize that we still have a few hours left to sleep here, the rise and fall of your breath, against me slows time, fogs my ability to fear anything but its departure and i know the act of making memories like these only defers the pooling pain of the present deeper into the trench into the dark seafloor mix of distorted time and the lost lonely continents that, in their descent, left behind the very same spirit and power vacuums we’ve settled into i know a day is brewing below that will one day rise to strike me down, like the earth pounds a single raindrop into mist i know little, yet, of what things cost, little, but enough to not let go
Literature
Entertaining Ghosts
So little when she first encountered Poe
and learned to stuff herself with shrieking woe.
A timid child, she courted terror’s thrill;
she'd read by day, then suffer frightened chill
as nightmares clawed her down into the deep.
She’d cry out in the dark, though half asleep,
but with the dawn she’d close a haunted door,
then turn the page she’d marked to suffer more.
Eventually, I wished my childhood years
had left me less in fear of certain mirrors
that call up ghosts of those who’ve gone before.
They haunt us with the voices that implore
us hold our gaze and meet the captive wraith
who so desires to swell unwil
Suggested Collections
obviously.
a combination of prompts
a combination of prompts
© 2011 - 2024 riparii
Comments39
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You are so earthy, but without the crunch. Seems more honest this way, somehow. Though perhaps that's because I'm not a fan of chunky peanut butter.