The sound of her wings
and the ocean’s whisper lapping the shore –
sometimes they still wake me;
arousing the warmest grief – an anamnesis that lives in my bones .
A bittersweet remembrance,
fostered by curious wondering as I wander on
– Faint I still feel a pulse. Still hear it’s beckoning.

She is an astroid – humming a lonely hymn

These nights I wake
Naked against the rocks – water begets air
ten tongues could not speak my reflection
a hundred hearts could not heal
that which I choose to keep mangled
Hell; perhaps it’s penance
perhaps it’s something else

Like smoke, she says I’m like smoke

and in these nights i wake wet
I thought of her a thousand times – still a name alludes me
breaching with subtly like the rising moon
laced with a silhouette
breaking bread with ghosts; rapacious and abandoned
and breaking silence with dissertation and prose-
-all for her

unknown, unsought, untouchable

Where have the maidens gone?
The mothers scorned and the crones forgotten.
Where is the Wild feminine? Kind and fierce –
Her seductive primal howl spreading herself open
– daring you come inside
Eyes sharp – she tears back with teeth and nail
the decaying meat that binds her
smiling with repletion.

She remembers.

they sought to save the world to take it somewhere safe,
but only succeed in leaving themselves behind
We are thoughts on tongue-tips now; and I terminate the words that tend
for what better
than to die a little death on tongues tip?
My cup over flows with a bittersweet memory;
easing the passing
of hungry ghosts that were never
meant for loving

The sound of her wings
and the ocean’s whisper lapping the shore –
sometimes they still wake me

– AppleCat
Art Credit: http://fav.me/d5w51b3


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