House of Heart, Holly Rene Hunter [the best e book reader txt] 📗
- Author: Holly Rene Hunter
Book online «House of Heart, Holly Rene Hunter [the best e book reader txt] 📗». Author Holly Rene Hunter
In this dream I turn to you and
light my cigarette from the glowing
tip of yours.
I propose we fly away.
Your dark eyes whip my mind
into arousal and your elegant hand
on my thigh turns me soft inside.
Your breathing is a sigh against
my ear that whispers my hair
and crimson lips so near devours
your resistance.
Against waves of joy and sadness
dreams are always what it could
be like.
Suddenly hares chase foxes
and Roebucks hunt hunters and
to shield me from the terror you
hold me within bleak arms.
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like a butterflyA heart can fall like a suicide
descending shades of midnight
frozen blossoms on an icy lake
a silent breeze of despair
Escaping this drying chrysalis
Let my tongue flirt like a butterfly
among wildflowers rather than
polish scars, de-bride my wounds
Just Once More
I’ve unfastened knots
expunged cruel disputes
expelled grief to an acceptable level
Hidden sadness behind a wink and smile
cast all doubts out to sea
We’ve conquered the boundaries of both hemispheres
where we traveled half-blind in the mist
Let me have you hold you adore you once more
and *if it don’t work out then you can tell me goodbye.
*Then you Can Tell Me Goodbye" The Casinos
You and I
Fierce and unbending
this current we sail
softly gliding
this way, no, fly there,
hearts beating throats
pulsing, spines arching,
bursting like supernovas.
When you go I become the
the pulpy heart of a
sea gull whose cry unravels
the deepest caves or threads
of sky, a lone sand piper
begging for salt with soulful eyes.
You and I , the sea and sky
we the cord strung between.
Harbinger
There are roses along
a path near a marsh by a
a motionless bay.
My hands glide the stillness
of your face that I love like
summer wildflowers.
The sun hangs like ripe fruit
and sparks become fire.
Soon winter’s wind will
chill our bones and the
silent wilderness of longing.
Bones
There's a sickle of moon
above a lush forest floor
where scavengers pluck
flesh from the bones of
a wolf.
In my mind the wolf
hides inside me
waiting patiently the
impulsive lamb.
Dark heart I hear you
howling for possession
stars plummeting through
our veins.
A frenzy of birdsong
can not conceal the
longing that lingers
in these bones.
Impulse
The sky is liquid,
a roll and clash of thunder.
The grass is tall
beneath the rain trees.
Silence,
a stifling blanket of
isolation and a madness
that is not my enemy but
exposes everything for
what it is.
Restless,
I ache to leave
my crying place
before melancholy claims
this ruinous summer.
Let me stretch
like some sexy feline,
a carnivorous Panther
succumbing to the
impulse to pounce
.
Photography by National Geographic
Summer With Burroughs
Summer with Burroughs
Remember last
summer we were
obsessed with
Burroughs?
Anything familiar,
like the sound of
far off thunder,
close enough to subdue
the mad-paced hours.
Something inciting,
like a strike of
lightning,
the odor of combustion
ready to ignite.
Everything electric
that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between
whale song and sigh,
spontaneous thunder
with intermittent quiet,
sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”
Do These Things
Do These Things
Assemble a poem around me
paint me on your canvas
lift me up on whispers
released into your dreams
the embodiment of want
inescapable taboo
let me be the rhythm of
your beating heart.
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Let Me Be
Let Me Be
the sun who shines
without expectation.
A breeze that shapes soft
passages where you travel
uncertainty.
Let me be the wind,
breathing lilting melodies
that set your heart in motion.
In darkness, I will be
the moon, a swell and pull
of tides that draw you to me.
On a windscape strung of string
hidden brightly among the stars,
ascend with me,
the world so far below.
It Wasn't Meant to Be
I hesitate to call myself
human these days
a stone bruise of loss,
the l sting of abandonment.
Filleted by the bludgeon
of love and hate
not the same way or on the
same day
Inconsistency is the surest way
to weaken the bark
loosen the roots
placate the never ending ego
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Metamorphosis
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