Friday, May 13, 2016

Verão, Eternal

These are our ancestors.
Arms reaching toward depths of seas.
Heartbeat pounds against winter wind.
Formulating equations from aquatic laboratories.

We jumped over seven atmospheres.
Orbits calculated, clashed our stars together.
I was entranced by fireworks glistening
above our shifting, laughing expressions.

Manufactured artifacts are dug from the soil,
only decades after they'd been planted.
Earthenware gleams gold in brisk sunlight.
An esteemed, argumentative ruse if I'd ever heard one.

So often I dream of you in threes.
Personalities tessellate above themselves.
Stacked against symbols in a dark vehicle.
Our hands entwined, immovable.

Soon, I'll give a hard repetition of harmonies.
Three tattered branches will rise to summon a final growth.
We chose clouded vases in the city of your youth.
A vibrancy infused in my veins.

It's only my second presence,
hands not yet soft against your touch.
Engineer your chemicals to interact with mine.
Where is the edge of soil, where the root of the fruit plant begins?

Tuesday, January 19, 2016

Shiver // Awake

My ancestral form awakens
from this increasing southern freedom.
I exist,
I sweat,
I am naturally human.

Hazel dusted irises,
eyes stretching forth in want.
All of the earth's water flows from the fount in my palm.
Spin next to me and let me connect to your shaded touch.
I notice forms in the darkness under my eyelids-
individuals tesselating above each other
All of them whom I'd like to be.

When my positive expectations no longer correlate with our stinging realities,
my heart descends into an extreme, dark shiver of truth,
but it immediately rises in reverence to a higher resonance.

And therefore:
Rivers flow from my electric brow.
Rest beside me, and let me spark your shadowed animation.
I notice movements behind my eyes,
all of myself, wondrous forms.
When I awake,
I am increasingly wild
and curls expand like ancient bush atop shifting, desert sand.

What is it, then, the great fascination with hands?
Despite our separate orbital movements, our realities are concentric.
Let me be your technicolor.