Spring poem
silent learnings
precious stones
a n d
wondrous
r e m e d i e s
The sound of sobriety
and the smell
of
t i m e l e s s
deaths
Insinuations
fake propriety
full-on minimalism
u n m a d e
b e d
spring remedies
M a r i o n e tt e s
Wooden eyes and long, lean legs a uniquely sophisticated sense of humour (his words) He moved around / all fabled theatrics / while she watched his orchestrating moves from afar * Wooden skin and fast beat steps a uniquely sophisticated sense of humour (she couldn't tell) He made his speech / all fabled theatrics / and they all vowed— - blind - deaf - wordless - m a r i o n e tt e s
white noise
sorry i haven’t been here
for
m o n t h s
w e e k s
d a y s
sorry i had gone
all s i l e n t
*
did i not have
any verses to w r i t e
any s t o r i e s to tell ?
i was in the process
of l i v i n g
them
blocking this
w h i t e n o i s e
inside my head
**
did i not have
any verses to w r i t e
any s t o r i e s to tell ?
/ o killing silence! /
sorry i haven’t been here
for
m o n t h s
w e e k s
d a y s
*
fuzzy verse
Sleepy days and blooming nights — f i e l d s drying out of fine c o f f e e A nice, slow sip, tasting some fancy b e a n s — a fragrant future drawn on my bitter e s p r e s s o I stole a puff blowing some faint s m o k e verse — but your tired eyes wouldn’t read f u z z y letters S l o w words, fake rain, dripping on h o p e f u l grass — some shattered glass Spilling red ink onto w e t p a g e On sleepy days, I write a faint smoke v e r s e — Our fragrant future d r a w n on a bitter espresso
orchid spaces
//We both felt dizzy with verses
Electrified!
Living in orchid
Spaces
Lucid—
All those rhymes
of yore
Such widowed thoughts
Our lonely oasis//
/Moon passages
And wicked faces
Bespoke suits,
Poetic races
Discerning fables and
Fizzy odes/
//We both felt dizzy with verses
Electrified!
Living in orchid
Spaces
Such widowed thoughts
One homely oasis
Lucid—
All the rhymes
Of yore//
The Departed
He felt like sneezing;
laughing to himself;
or remaining silent
Helplessly searching
for drowsy stories
to put into words
"Finish that page!"
the choir
- w h i l e
h e h u m m e d
a h o p e f u l
t u n e -
kept chanting
And then,
just like that,
he departed
Thankful for the life
he’d lived
loved
l
e
f
t
tiptoe
I tiptoe around
this, my
d r e a m
garden
as you undress
my thoughts
with d e f t
hands
a bright
blue M o o n
just won’t stop
shining
even as
the t i m e
comes to
w a k e u p
lazy sounds
A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
these wrinkled thoughts—
they need
some ironing
I outstretch my arms,
I yawn, I smile—
safe in the knowledge
that I am not
immortal
/Loathing
this endless
loop of
lazy sounds/
*
A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
those wrinkled thoughts—
they crave
some irony
A spider web
some deep, brown eyes—
a saturnine reflection
in my morning
coffee
/Loathing
this endless
loop of
lazy sounds/
*
A yellow rose
a bright red Moon
those wrinkled thoughts—
they need
some ironing
Where did She go?
I sensed her, near—
yet now she's
nowhere around
to be seen
/O Muse, come back,
bearing harmonious gifts—
effacing this senseless
loop of lazy
s o u n d s/
liminal spaces
/ forgetful
regretful
a mindful path of
multi-storied
v e r s e s /
searching
for liminal
s p a c e s
observing
those pondering
f a c e s
*
. . . o p p o n e n t s
aware
contenders—
beware
of those doubtful
intentions
unspoken
d i s s e n t i o n s . . .
sketched
on damp paper—
and never
aired
*
/ forgetful
regretful
a mindful path of
multi-storied
v e r s e s /
searching
for liminal
s p a c e s
fierce like
assonant
traces
you can
now
view—
though
I n e v e r
b a r e d
allure
allure, allure,
a silent sulk
a smile,
a doubt
~ A change
of r o u t e ~
a fear of drought,
these crispy beds.
the linens—blue
~ The eternal
s h a d e s ~
with open eyes
these thought parades—
I sense them all
~ The storm
p e r v a d e s ~
it rains and rains,
and soaks the truth—
all magic rites
~ A silent
s u l k ~
allure, allure
this hidden truth.
a smile,
some doubt,
~ This endless
s h o u t ~
the sweaty words,
these crispy beds.
the sirens—blue
~ The calmness
f a d e s ~
with open eyes
those thought parades—
I sense them all
~ T h e s t o r m
p e r v a d e s ~
Lights On
Feeling homesick
all stranded
left the building
keys inside it—
no way back
He’s now so lost
Lights are on
the lamp
still shining
those shelves—
empty
Books all gone
Who’s the liar
who’s the beggar
who’s
the
thief—
This empty soul
Feeling homesick
all stranded
left the building
keys inside it—
no way back
He’s now so lost
He’s got
talent
he’s a genius
such smoked mirage—
portrait,
Pawn
ice tickles
Moving on
with life—
enhancing
m o s
o d
/ ice won’t
break
as you skate
o n /
Drawing
on this
sensual,
s l i p p e r y
s r a e
u f c
/ enraptured
by those
i c e
t i c k l e s /
Feet moving
to the sound
of a
s i l e n t
w i p r
h s e
/ ice won’t
break
as you skate
o n /
An ageless
s u p e r n o v a
in this
perpetual
w i n t e r
s
k
y
writerly
I read
overread,
skim-read,
d
a
n
c
e
&
r a
e d
.
and,
while
r e a d i n g
b e t w e e n
t h e
l i n e s
I keep losing
my
t r a i n
o f
t o g t
h u h
. .
I don’t wanna
read
overread—
or
misread !
d
r
i
n
k
&
r a
e d
. . .
S o ,
I
w r i t e
***********
It’s been a while since my last post
(Or my last writing activity,
for that matter)
Now,
slooowly,
getting back to
writing mood
Please bear with me -
While I invoke my
Free verse muse
Happy to be back,
beautiful,
naughty,
dark &
clever
WordPress souls !
ink rain weather
Walking barefoot
on fresh grass
rain keeps
smearing
this old
draft
/ Faint
reflections
o f
o u r
d a m p
r e a l i t y /
Dizzy letters
all get
blurred
eerie story—
last line
slurred
/ D r i z z l i n g lines
in ink rain
weather /
Books all
tattered,
O, too frail!
this ink
watered down—
too pale
All these stories
drowning, bold;
fading lines
on torn page
drawn
/ Faint
reflections
o f
o u r
d a m p
r e a l i t y /
(Were they
really any
good, though?
I wonder
now—
too late)
/ D r i z z l i n g lines
in ink rain
weather /
p o e t r y. s o l d i e r s.
Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry
in those eager
fingers
/ Unforgiving Eyes /
Will you remember those words
W h e n y o u a r e o l d -
W h e n s h e ’ s g o n e ?
Poetry soldiers
missing in action—
silent whispers
that do not speak
wonders, yet reveal
half truths
/ Unforgiving Lies /
Will you remember their words
W h e n s h e’ s o l d -
W h e n y o u ’ r e g o n e ?
Dreading the fictions
and their inner imaginings
willingly embracing
the poetry
in those eager
fingers
/ Unforgiving Minds /
Like the
poetry soldiers
missing in action—
yearning for fictions
to evolve from
abstractions
Minds, eyes,
white lies,
soft words—
barely whispered—
under
b l a z i n g
e n e m y
s k i e s
the colour of your dreams
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Yet you
never
utter
a single
w o r d
So I strive to
find my
answer
in ink
s k e t c h e s
*
I often
get lost
in your
canvas
p a l a c e
My hands
all dirty
with
old
p a i n t
What’s the colour
of your
dreams?
I d a r e
a s k
Those
undecipherable
ink
s
t
r
o
k
e
s
Paint
pirouettes
that won't
tell any
t a l e s
*
My dreams
are
sometimes
coloured
y e l l o w
— with
a
dash
of
b l u e —
Your eyes closed,
while I get lost
in the true opacity
of those abstract
i m a g e s
So I let
all shades sink in—
colouring your reverie
back to
r e a l i t y
the raconteur
Raining feathers misty light the sound of a waterfall nursing me into sleep Vigilant feelings bleeding into free-wheeling thoughts, a window about to swing open— one I didn’t want to see through The widowed tales of nighttime dreams, the ones I tried to tell by heart— with the worldly decorum of the raconteur Raining feathers misty light the sound of a waterfall nursing me into sleep
word wedding
words
are words
and
g o r g e o u s
w o r d s
words of
wisdom,
h a r d c o r e
w o r d s
wicked
weathered
s a v a g e
s e n t i e n t
sassy
silver
sage,
w i l d
w o r d s
words,
are words,
o d d-
f l a v o u r e d
w o r d s
foreign
sexy
e x o t i c
c l a s s y
lusting
after them—
t h o s e
m e a n i n g f u l
w o r d s
words,
all words,
j u s t
m a r r i e d
w i t h
w o r d s
* * *
wishing you
all a wildly
poetic
and
word-lusty
2022
🤍
* * *
spy
She yearned to become a spy yet she failed so miserably She walked the long walk and dressed in hued tones She hushed the sharp tongues and asked for bad karma For those that would play her— the good ones obeyed her Lila yearned to become a spy yet she failed so miserably She wore her dark shades, unravelled dark plots / with feline intention and birdlike precision / Yet her wings she did not want to get w e t So she’d run under cover on rainy days It was always warmer by that fireplace She yearned to become a spy— Yet she failed so miserably
failed reader
I wish I’d never let you read any of the stories in my draft book Since I always knew you’d just skim through those pages ( Lousy reader that you were— now, your time, pronto! to get back to school ) This is a book that will never get published Too bad you trashed the draft upon first reading Too good you’ll never ever get to read the end, One so tenderly written in my doctor’s handwriting - undecipherable, for my Failed R e a d er E x t r a o r d i n a i r e
bloodied verse
Blue-blood poet
cold at heart
large,
your ego,
this swell night,
She’s a tourist
in wild dreams
of word orgies
blood verse
streams,
Both,
crossed lovers
madness feigned,
vintage statues
They remained
Wordplay
artists,
starry
nights,
warm-blood poet—
S t a y
t h e
n i g h t
new seas she sails
New seas she sails with wet, wet eyes cold, purple lips a wild, wild heart A fighting mind one fateful tune one fresh start a blinding light New poems read with tired eyes a stunning feat those rhyming lines Warm, purple ink a healing heart she will, one day, recover might A writing sword on stormy fields she will in dreams all battles fight And conquer will those seas she sails those dry, dry lines a fighting mind She starts to sail she longs to write - new poems, wild, they will take flight New seas she sails a bright new night with drier eyes h e r s o l o w r i t e s
veiled days
We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s Souls almost blurred by shy, dry tears fears hinted in those faces—dark and p a l e Oppressive times, so stark and fearful, Venetian masks silencing those worry t a l e s We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s What face we’d find under such attires— question harassing our snotty brains, those d a y s We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s Oppressive times, so stark and fearful, there was only so much hope to fight those w a i l s Momentum for change Lost opportunity? — We’d never wish for those sad days to s t a y We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s What face we’d find under such attires— colourful masks silencing our worried faces—dark and p a l e
frenzied flow
She trespasses the confines of this purple forest, the one I just i m a g i n e d My legs dangling in the air— u n n e r v e d by the lack of motion of recent days She twists and turns and sings and rhymes— Mother of verse Sister of bored d e s p a i r— with frenzied flow Her feet tapping to the sound of a tune only I can h e a r
opening night
She takes
centre stage
and then
she starts
s i n g i n g
All facing
an audience
of flickering
l i g h t s
. She’s perfectly
f i n e .
The muse
that inspired
such musical
m i g h t
*
Her voice
all conveys
the sounds
of wild
r e a s o n
His plot,
just betrays—
some smoke
blurring
t r e a s o n
. She’s perfectly
f i n e .
The muse
that inspired
such musical
m i g h t
*
An opera dream
a grandiose illusion
a silent stream
of utter
d e l u s i o n
All facing
the audience—
some flickering
s i g h t
. She’s perfectly
f i n e .
A standing
ovation on
opening
n i g h t
gravity
rarity
gravity
willowy
s i g t h s
sensing
the
fears
that pierce
through your
body
mind
soul
and
thy
h
e
a
r
t
*
rarity
gravity
magical
n i g t h s
drying
these tears
all sensing
the fears
that pierce
through the
body
mind
soul
and
my
h
e
a
r
t
*
rarity
gravity
subdued
star
l i g h t
tearful,
silent,
day-dreaming
we stumble on
willowy
s i g h t s
*
drunk with
wild wonders
day-dreaming
we tumble,
we write,
dream, still,
humble,
f l o a t ,
w e i g h t l e s s ,
t o n i g h t
ingenuity
I gladly
lent
you
my
v o i c e
The one
you borrowed
while you
were still
learning to
s i n g
We played
air guitar
with long,
restless
f i n g e r s
No music, not even
random notes,
coming out of
those make-belief
s t r i n g s
With ingenuity,
we birthed
a lyric-less
and odd-tuned
a n t h e m
a l l v i b e ,
r a r e
s o u n d ,
For this,
our imaginary
ensemble
of dreamy-eyed
s o u l s
inside she’s smiling
cold-blooded smile and somber cues you think you laugh — but inside she’s s m i l i n g her fingers now holding her serpent brush — as she dyes new days with ocher embracing l a y e r s black stilettos found in her long-forgotten chest of time nearly crying out — barefoot days a r e o v e r while her canvas, fair sets those h e e l s alight, cold-blooded s m i l e — stomping feet through p l i g h t her fingers, now, firmly hold the brush— as she paints new days with ocher embracing l a y e r s high-heeled, great shine, warm-blooded, s l i g h t , you think she cries — but, inside, s h e ’ s s m i l i n g
ghosts & mirrors
i tried too hard to catch a glimpse of your soul on your fragile m i r r o r the one I forgot to clean when I got home really late at n i g h t falling asleep while fighting ghosts I’d only heard about, not even quite, i m a g i ne d for they never really existed, all but a fake reflection of your silent, deadly, maddened, b i t e
a subtle blind
dreams are dreams— these dreams of m i g h t as night becomes a subtle b l i n d for storming ears and fears of d e a t h and silent smiles and rightful s t a r e s I sing I sigh I dream— We d r o w n those dreams red nights a subtle c r y and dreams are dreams— those dreams, t o n i g h t will end the affair, and cover, m i g h t You sing You sigh You dream— We d r o w n these dreams, such dreams, this s u b t l e b l i n d
“literary glimpses” on Spillwords
Dear readers,
I am happy to share some good news with you, as my poem “literary glimpses” has just been published by Spillwords.
You can read it here:
With this poem I wanted to pay homage to poetic and fictional works—as they become safe spaces where writers and readers alike can fulfil their desires, and ultimately enact their true identities.
Through the act of reading literary works, we can get a glimpse of these dreams and desires, and of all those perhaps idealised versions of ourselves (writers) in relation to others (readers).
Feel free to like the poem on the Spillwords page if you feel so inclined 🤍.
You can also reach me through IG: @lannazeescribbles – I’ll be delighted to see you on Instagram too.
Thank you SO MUCH for reading, liking, and commenting on my posts. I couldn’t be happier to have fellow bloggers enjoy my writing 🖤.
Anna (LannaZee)
killer stanza
with his singers and dancers she could not c o m p e t e as she had only killer words to offer— to be licked and s a v o u r e d dark chocolate bites for lyrically sophisticated t a s t e b u d s he now wished he’d gotten an earlier taste—but was already perishing with languid b r e a t h just as he’d swallowed the very last lyrical mouthful of her poisoned s t a n z a for she only had killer words to offer— to be licked and s a v o u r e d dark chocolate dessert for his sweet and sultry cabaret s o i r é e
blurred lines
under bare light you should take f l i g h t yet, change of mind— you stay b e h i n d tomorrow’s dream a written stream of conscious s e l f sublimely bored severely u n d e r w h e l m e d i want out here you won’t be n e a r bare light— take flight i want you here come back a g a i n tomorrow’s dream a written stream of conscious s e l f all blurred blue lights in fancy d r e a m s sublimely bored severely u n d e r w h e l m e d tomorrow’s dream a written stream of conscious s e l f
sweet dreams
shake things up
shake things down
shape things wild
a n d
b o x
t h e m
i n
right
or
wrong
it’s all
t h e y ’ v e
b e e n
*
they’ve seen
g r e y
they’ve seen
b l a c k ,
demure shades—
a field of
d r e a m s
right
or
wrong
it’s all
t h e y ’ v e
s e e n
*
now,
and then,
been...
...and seen,
tonight,
grey worlds,
be
come
s w e e t
d r e a m s
dry rhyme
i see myself poetry bare naked just reflected in your half broken m i r r o r while taking a sip out of your nearly empty bottle of dry w i t can you see us— or at least can you remember what we used to look l i k e in that, our world of alternate rhymes and fancy w o r d p l a y s worlds now dissolved into thin air, for readers to imagine— But never r e a d i see us poetry bare naked just reflected into that half-broken mirror a sip out of our nearly empty rhyming bottle of dry g i n
grey verse
one day
you wake up
all ached
and word-
s l u m b e r ed
still yawning—
yet realising
you couldn’t live
without living
v e r s e
you should’ve fixed
that purple
alarm clock by
your bedside
t a b l e
when there was still
time to save those
stanzas from
the literary
b l a z e
poor Poetry—
the one
you forever
took for
g r a n t e d
won’t you
wake up
before it all
burns down to
a s h e s ?
hopefully
not too late—
a lyrical
wake-up call
from your poetic
d a z e
A l l p o e t r y . . .
. . . N o p o e t r y
g r e y
p o e t r y
h o p e f u l l y
y o u ’l l
w a k e u p
l y r i c a l l y
f r e s h
T o d a y
tambourine
D
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army
splatter walls—
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
magic hands
can turn out
wonders,
now they're sleeping—
shan't be
awoken
y e t
close
the shutters,
no light
streaming—
they deserve
a darkened
dreaming
b e d
D
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army—
splatter walls
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
collector’s bird
you plucked out too many of my cyan-tinted f e a t h e r s while modelling me into a stuffed poetic b i r d wings got too heavy with your lyrically infused f e a r s so i couldn’t fly away from your collector’s palace— y e t until tonight— when i slide out of this darkened room of n i g h t m a r e s leaving you behind, sleeping, in your tortuous, silent, o d d r h y m e d b e d
foggy rhymes
b u r n i n g
b r i d g e s
h o l d i n g
g r u d g es
f l o w e r s
w i t h e r
w e a k e n e d
s t a r s
s i l e n t
p a c e s
w o r d s
w i t h
f i g m e n t s
o f
v o i c e
p e t a l s
f
o
g r
g h
y y
m
e
s
mind dust
dissuading fears
like there’s
no
t
o
m
o
r
r
o
w
assuaging
nuages—
those dreams
u
n
f
o
l
d
contorting
smiles
unseen to
t
d h
a g
y i
l
there’s no
room
left for
dreams
of
O L
G D
verse vampire
i stop
feeding
your brain's
licking
w o r d
o b s e s s i o n
deliberately
discarding
this needless
w i s h
f o r v e r s e
trying to
become
r h y m e
a v e r s e
draining
the room’s
letter
h i d d e n
c h e s t
yet, while
averse,
i still
s p e a k ,
i n v e r s e
so I
do me
and
y o u
d o y o u
so
very
word
l i c k e r
y o u
lil’
v
a
e m
r p
s i
r
e
literary glimpses
those true identities w e c a m e t o i n h a b i t yet only lived i n l i t e r a r y w o r l d s unwritten stories of our t r u e d e s i r e s in rhyme embellished nice pace, s w i f t w o r d s identity- empty f i c t i o n a l , i m a g i n e d lyrically beautiful, ghostly, s a v a g e d , f o r c e d those true identities w e c a m e t o i n h a b i t yet only glimpsed through d a r k t h i c k s m o k e
dark smoke verse
Smoking
French
poetry whore
cigarettes
o n e,
a f t e r
t h e
o t h e r
i wet my lips,
i puff—
frail
particles of
d i f f u s e d
s m o k e
S
d u
n m e r
u r
o
i bat my eyelids,
i stare away.
and puff—
o n e
a f t e r
t h e
o t h e r
still no
words, yet
i perceive
some
d a r k
v e r s e
s m o k e
has subtly
embraced
— p o s s e s s e d —
my f e a t h e r e d
d r e a m s
and,
while
i type
a widowed
v e r s e —
for a poem
i may
have dreamed—
but will
never, in ink,
b i r t h
smoking
French
poetry whore
cigarettes
o n e,
a f t e r
t h e
o t h e r
a drunken
song
waltzes
around
i n
m y
h e a d
“they’re not good for you.
he’s not good for you.
stop wasting
y o u r
b r e a t h
a w a y
remember—
smoking
ain’t good
for
the
l i v i n g .”
i n h a l e.
e x h a l e.
s m o k i n g
o n e ,
a f t e r
t h e
o t h e r
a
subtly
s o o t h i n g
d a r k ,
s m o k e d
v e r s e
e
s m
e m e b
c r
a
“nightsong” published by Spillwords
dear readers, i am quite delighted to share some good news with you, as my poem "nightsong" has just been published by Spillwords you can check it here:Nightsongfeel free to like it if you feel so inclined 🤍 i take this chance to thank you all for your support— it really warms my heart and poetic soul to see you follow, read, like and comment on my poems oh! I almost forgot you can also follow me on IG: @lannazeescribbles i may not be the most active of IG poets but I'll be delighted to see you t h e r e 🤍 with much poetic love Anna (LannaZ)
crimson waves
S
i S
l o
e u
n n
t d
S
r d Y
o W S
W a e
v
C r i m s o n
B l u e S
T h o s E
W i c k e D
W o n
d e r S
burgundy nights
wording wondrous wreckage
imagining feasts of rhyme
and lusting after
verse-full fancy
ty p i ng
t
h
e
e
n
n
u
i
a w a y
through burgundy
written
stanzas
as
the
drama
Queen
she
wasn’t
meant
to
be
.
.
.
y e t — s h e ' d b e c o m e
.
.
.
and
then
she closed
her eyes
p
r
e
t
e
n
d
i
n
g
n o t h i n g
h a d
e v e r
h a p p e n e d
dream forest
wandering around, drunk in summer scents— so thoughtlessly, yet meaning to get lost— in your green wilderness, i try to escape this grey and never-ending urban foliage dreaming of a summer forest— forever home for my adoptive tree
H e r o i n e
You hit me /
Immense high /
Dried ginger clouds
Mischievously
Embrace me /
While I float away
I n g o d l y
S o u n d s c a p e /
I start
Sliding down
To viscous darkness /
Engulfing me /
U n a w a r e /
Faintly blurring away
Y o u r t r u e
E x i s t e n c e /
Hopelessly
I hit
The ground /
And dive into
The murkiest
Depths
I ’ v e e v e r
I n h a b i t e d /
Junkie dwarfs
Deftly conceal
Your
Exit
plan /
To my blankly
S i l e n t
E y e s /
I’m certain
You will
Never
Say
Sorry /
For those games
Y o u
P l a y e d /
You were Pure
Heroine /
And into
That gutter /
I do not want /
Again /
T o fall /
W i l l i n g l y /
One last
Poetic killer
Card
You hide /
As again /
Y o u h i t m e
V e r s e - l e s s l y /
You
A r e n o w
G o n e / I /
A m n o w
G o n e /
B o t h b u t f a i n t
S m o k e /
Of w h a t
W e
O n c e
W e r e/
W h a t
C o u l d /
H a v e /
B e e n /
/ I
Am
Ever
So /
Sorry /
F o r
O u r
L o s s / / /
P.S.
I resurrected /
That is
The epilogue
Your literary eyes
Will
Never
G e t t o
R e a d /
So /
As
I start
Combatively
Writing
M y
O w n
H i s t o r y /
I stop
Mourning
Us /
And
Become /
T h e h e r o i n e
i n m y o w n
S t o r y /
I n s t e a d
pink dream
she wears a pink dress to hide her petulant d a r k n e s s turbulently staring as if she’d been living the dream and was now anxiously grasping for b r e a t h when she finds out about reality she starts walking the walk— those platform s h o e s the ones that so very silently hurt her slim a n k l e s towering over his thoughts, pink-stained, so very badly e n c l o s e d In the yet to be unmasked confines of his i m a g i n a t i o n
ink tickles
i write on your page slightly tickling your skin with a white f e a t h e r dipping my finger into the porcelain inkwell— so delicately moist with i n d i g o i n k my soft strokes very lightly caress the most sensitive creases on your p a g e i take my dripping finger, full of sensuous thirst, and autograph some verse bites on your back c o v e r and all night long i keep writing free rhymes until you drunkenly fall a s l e e p no need for more words as smudged ink reveals i am about to lose a bird of my own f e a t h e r so long, writing lover of mine— here is one last indigo ink tickle for your g o o d n i g h t p o e t i c d r e a m s
LannaZee 