Love Letters

She’s a tangent, planting words in wild rows that release constant seeds, adrift, landing upon her skin, a skin she reads to herself.

Her heartbreak, an apocalypse of reincarnations, dust on the floor, dry paper, bits, clumps, wheat lost from the chaff, molded to her insides, feeling the roughness of each word.

She sweeps the floor of these words, where thousands threw their crumbs, recognizes the smell, small mixtures of sweet and rot, rooted, glued to a pattern, reapplied to the pollination.

Her eyes like rain and sun fall heavy upon the sprout, sounding out, curling around the heads of her lovers, laying hold upon their ears, their hearts but vines and flowers.

 

(Image–“Sensed”. Click on image to enlarge)

31 Comments on “Love Letters

  1. Thanks so much Tish. I read your 3P’s. I understand where you’re coming from. The perfection part intrigued me. Having a long history of improvising in music, the “mistake” often became an art form itself. Take care!!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Your words are lovely. I have enjoyed reading many of your writings. Thank you

    Like

  3. When you look upon a page you’re writing on, you may notice that all the sentences and paragraphs, stanzas and enjambments, appear as a series of rows. Makes you wonder how we arrange our lives, our loves…? Thanks so much!

    Liked by 2 people

  4. She’s a tangent… a skin she reads to herself.

    A line to die for – sends a shudder.

    Like

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