reflections (by firstcomet)

I see your reflection, on the glass window of night
The flickering lights, twinkling in your eyes
Beyond these walls, the city is quietly napping
Just to arise, another pale day of fluffy flakes
I won't be able to hold on to your image;
eyelids are giving up, I'll catch you later
Beyond the borders of this shuttered town ...

It's Satin (by firstcomet)

And she said:
look at my bed sheet, it is satin,
and a pause, but it is not …
an invitation inside the bed!

And I looked at her bed sheet,
And it was now a satin, and it was strange,
since I had not seen a satin bed sheet before:
No gloss, no float, only fire that blazed and arose!

And I was thinking, limitations of knowing;
Just like a satin with dull reflections,
wavering, under the weight of urges:
nylon, polyester, and silk. Sinking!

And when I finally emerged
I found myself gazing
At your hazelnut eyes
What a wondrous feeling it was!

Though, anxious they looked
As if I caught a glimpse of them
While in a free fall
From the sky above

And it crossed my mind
That while falling
Can we fall for each other,
The certainty of our uncertaint lives?

I did not know.
It was your lips
Emancipated slave of thoughts
That broke the lull ...

I heard your voice
Over a cumulus cloud
About to reconvene with her old mates
To wash the city off my loneliness

Voices that boil your blood
And tightens your jaws
And chest, and fists
Pushing you to the other side …

The nowhere man’s land
The warm feeling propagating
Through my veins, up the ladder
Where the angles reside!

It’s no longer a fight;
likely a gradual transcendence
To where I heard your voice once,
Twice, and again on a Saturday

In the middle of a road,
In the middle of a song,
In the middle of an oblivious life
In the presence of your unbounded reality!

Toi Derricotte

i knew you before you had a mother, ...
i knew you when your connections belonged only to yourself, when you had no history to hook on to, ...
to night, turning, and the stars blinked like a cat. we swam in the last trickle of champagne before we knew breastmilk

"that saw through
her clothes, under
her skin, all the way down
to the transparent
genes confessing."

The Forgotten Dialect Of The Heart (Jack Gilbert)

How astonishing it is that language can almost mean, and frightening that it does not quite ... What we feel most has no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.