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
//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//
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
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
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/
/ 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,
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 ~
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
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
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 !
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 /
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
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
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
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
🤍
* * *
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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
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 🖤.
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
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 dreama written
stream
of conscious
s e l f
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
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
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
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 dD
r D
u r
m u
m ,
little women's army—
splatter walls
dressed in
war face
p a i n t
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
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
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
td h
a g
y i
l
there’s no
room
left for
dreams
of
O LG D
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
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
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
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:
feel 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)
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
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
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
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
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
you told me
you’d be there
for me
that you’d read
my words
late at
n i g h t
those silky
promises
yet you only
skimmed through
those lines
flapping your
dark godly wings
flying out to more
luscious
v e r s e s
those silky
promises
so exquisitely thin
one can still
inhale the aroma
of cheap cigar
dressed up
in cuban
a t t i r e
those silky
promises
the words
are still there
for your one
and only
reading
pleasure
naked
flowery
dark
and
mourning
just for your
eyes only,
those very silky
promises,
u n d e r
t h e
p a l e
m o o n l i g h t
Photo by Stacey Gabrielle Koenitz Rozells on Pexels.com
verse
bursts
exploding
against
your
connoisseur
poetic
p a l a t e ,
barely
tickling
your
fancy
cushioned
b r a i n ,
inebriated
with wordplay,
then nursing
your poetic
hangover
back to
s o b r i e t y .
verse
bursts
exploding
against
your
connoisseur
poetic
p a l a t e ,
always
yearning for
new embellished
rhymes
to lick and
f o n d l e ,
distilled liqueurs
wasting away
in that—
your vintage
cellar
without a
n a m e ,
all verse—
aflame,
oh, such a
s h a m e .
the chapters
we stopped writing,
subtly smeared
like a
B r e e z e
the words we
never uttered,
all forgotten
like a
B r e e z e
crushed ice,
some bitter grapefruit,
drowned with vodka
like a
B r e e z e
enjoy the
subtle solace
of those berries
like a
B r e e z e
breathe on
an empty stomach
of love poems
like a
B r e e z e
love with
a puzzled mind,
ruby caresses
like a
B r e e z e
a new
unwritten chapter
unpublished opus—
w r i t t e n
B r e e z e
gone ---
with
the
s e a
B r e e z e
.
.
.
fun
thing is,
it wasn't
e v e n
a c o c k t a i l
N I G H T
LannaZee 