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Literature Text
I saw your black bones
Last night,
They burned like camp-fire spirits,
Leaking from those
Midnight-eyes:
Deep sea creatures,
Aubergine squid ink,
Bleeding out
Like a coven of black butterflies.
How they melt in your oceans -
Like decaying mermaid tails,
Cooley collecting
The way dark rum
Mercury-melds when it is hit
With the drool of lit sugar.
If I could be anything to you
I would choose to be a cinnamon-sunset
Set alight:
A chaotic mess
Of comet-punched temples,
Reaching further through
Your mirror and velvet encrusted
Windows.
Last night,
They burned like camp-fire spirits,
Leaking from those
Midnight-eyes:
Deep sea creatures,
Aubergine squid ink,
Bleeding out
Like a coven of black butterflies.
How they melt in your oceans -
Like decaying mermaid tails,
Cooley collecting
The way dark rum
Mercury-melds when it is hit
With the drool of lit sugar.
If I could be anything to you
I would choose to be a cinnamon-sunset
Set alight:
A chaotic mess
Of comet-punched temples,
Reaching further through
Your mirror and velvet encrusted
Windows.
Literature
Love, According to the Greeks
Love is a flame; it has potential to heal,
But ‘tis also the greatest pain one may feel.
Oh, and so many kinds exist,
But which one shall be your best fit?
Is it the light hearted eros or ludus?
The desirable pragma or agape?
But be careful not to jump into the fray;
You may catch mania; obsession, decay,
Possessive, accompanied by lust, and envy.
‘Tis much worse than common idolatry.
Do you exhibit eros, or lust and infatuation?
Yes my friend, there is a differentiation.
One may be physical but it is healthy!
The other is rooted in no logic; fantasy.
And, oh, when delightful eros and pragma meet!
Will end with a wo
Literature
Believe in a Thing Called Love
Finding someone who you truly love is finding the hidden parts of your own entity while they help you extract it from
the depths of your own self-doubt.
The thought of wonders of another soul that matched your beating hearts’ pulses seemed so far-fetched that you reminded yourself every chance you got that love was for other people, and that you would never find it.
That you were beyond the care of a single person in this world.
Because you believed that the real grandiose being that is yourself was too dull and too different for love to ever find it’s way into your narrow path of self-loathing.
People would tell you all the ti
Literature
Am I a good dog? (Short story)
Am I a good dog?
The thought constantly presses through my mind, devastating. Perhaps I have been too loud with my yipping every time Owner comes home from work, but I'm just so happy to see her! Could she blame me? What do I have in life beyond her, as her loving, something obnoxious puppy? What else could there ever be to it? She keeps me safe from all of life's dangers, outside of that large red door that separates the dangerous world that only strong, perfect people like Owner can enter, and a pathetic puppy like I am has no place.
Perhaps I have been asking for food too often. Owner pours all of the necessary kibbles into my bowl
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Nothing sinister here. Just raw passion and the velvet dark that we often hide from one another. It is just as pretty as your halo. Alex J. B. 
© 2014 - 2024 sherbetblooms
Comments11
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I love this. Your poem is amazing.