Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – She Needs A Wife

My lavender love,
aching amethyst that starts in my core, and crawls up through my body,
until my mind is conquered and quite mad.
There is a violence to your violet stare,
that look from across the room as I iron your shirts, and recall the time we were in a bar, and I told you, with no hesitation, that you needed a wife,
and you gave me that same look,
a gaze that gives an indication that my body is no longer my own,
and that my soul is on borrowed time.

Look at me now,
all asunder,
cooking your meals,
sewing up your shirts when they tear,
ironing with sweet lilac tears in my eyes,
because I miss the sadness that came before you,
I knew what to do with it,
but this? This gentle joy that trickles down the day,
from sunrise to sunset. This, I do not know how to handle, because I’ve never had it before.

I dream of a boat, in the breezy hands of the ocean,
fast and loose,
with drinks flowing and my honey at the helm.
It never sinks, and it never rusts,
it just parades us for the spectators we find at sea,
and I cook your meals,
I sew your shirts when they tear,
ironing with sweet lilac tears in my eyes.

You’re sweet to me,
home at a reasonable hour with hydrangeas behind your back, and a wicked smile,
and then you kiss me,
while my back is pressed against the warm oven,
wrinkling your shirt,
as if you enjoy watching me iron.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

What Happens Under The Picnic Blanket Stays Under The Picnic Blanket

I am astounded for an instant,
but then I return to restful resignation,
persuaded to pursue life to its bitter, beautiful end.
You are my best friend but you are my hell.
You are my lover, but you’ve shredded my sanity,
and you stand there with the audacity,
this audacious little smile,
like you don’t know what you’re doing.
I am in love with you,
but I’m losing the will to live,
lost in this languishing love that can never be returned or reciprocated,
because you are a circle of secrets,
and I will always be caught in the middle.
Good vibes as the sun set in Valencia,
our first and last kiss as we waited for the waves to wake up,
and for a minute,
an entire sixty seconds,
while the sun was the only one who could see us,
you held my hand under the blanket.

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – The Time Is Twelve Minutes To Seven

The time is twelve minutes to seven,
war is rumbling under the Earth,
and I am being pulled from Heaven,
to settle down into some kind of hell.

I stare from my sheets at a crashing, cosmic ocean,
the waves are weary but wonderful,
slowly springing to life as the sun follows suit,
but I know it is only ever occasional,
never knowing how much I need to stay in this state.

My pretty preciosa,
sapphires and sweet skies in her eyes,
she is all I think about as war breaks out,
and the government falls to pieces,
because I’m selfish,
self absorbed,
and too enchanted to take in life around me.

How could the moon be so bright last night?
How could she have been so settled in my arms,
but breaking from my grasp when The Today Programme starts?
How can real life go on,
when she wakes up,
and wrecks me by looking so beautiful?

Posted in Blog, Creative Writing, Pride Month 2022, Writing

Flashback – Candy From A Stranger

Her dandy, dazed gaze was so disarming,
mired in my haunted bliss,
and all the promises that I had made her,
she was still so surprising,
scorching the earth with a smirk on her lips and a cold can of demons in her delicate hand.
She tasted like danger,
candy from a stranger,
the kind of love that God gives out to little girls that he couldn’t quite give up on.

She makes me destructive,
but I deserve it,
quite richly, for all of my sanctioned suffering,
and how my hopes were dashed,
my hopes that were once high enough to greet the clouds as they awoke.
It is not time to hope, now,
it is time to live,
to love in a way that makes my father sick,
to destroy his daughter and be reborn in the shadow of a soulmate.

She keeps me captive,
and I scratch stanzas into the steel bars with short fingernails that deserve to be forgiven,
for this is disarming, charming love,
destructive to the last second,
delicious to the last bite.