skylotus:

Stirring the tea in large sun-brewed jars
The sun is shimmering off of blades of grass
That have gathered, glistening in your hair
It drifts along the soft curves of your shoulders
Into the crooks of your arms; fluttering along your lips
As you breathe in sweet summer-sleep.

 The horizon paints you red, and I am

Taken by your fire that recedes along your
Aura, kissed by cosmic mountains somewhere
I long to trek with eager senses.

 The jars perspire in the twilight, and the moths
Come to extend their feelers in a flutter of wings.
Glow-bugs flicker green—
You rise from sleep.

Ode to Emily Dickinson

She dealt her pretty words like blades they shone,
this paper I clutch resembles your ghost–
Whose pooling eyes show life, immortality–
The place in which the bobolinks will sing.

Lady in white I find your absence long
You left us all–far too young–so deeply
ran the length of your being within me, too.
I read that your funeral was quite lovely

“Carry me through a field of buttercups.”
I carry you through eternity, too.   

I know that everything beneath the moon
Grows old within the mortal man’s world, blue
The imperialistic time turns too;
The brightest days still end in death’s might
The lady of prosody grants me light
Though, not without a fight of reason still
While idle sounds grow silent plight of thrill
The praise of her swiftness is a sweet sight
I know inspiration like the cold breath
Can cross you as quick as it can break you
Slips a Molotov in your drink, shade of blue
An explosion of flames, she still brings death
This list will damn me to eternal chess
Don’t crown your queen before your blade is blessed.

(From: I know that all beneath the moon decays)