My breath is full of lilacs, lavender, and lupine.
I inhale you - you and the purple flowers on the wind.
I feel dizzy:
you go to my head like wine knowingly indulged in.
My eyes devour the stain of blueberries, boysenberries, huckleberries
on your lips and fingers as you eat:
The soft taste of you as I kiss those juice-painted lips.
Your smile sends me to my knees - a knight before my royal liege,
For you, I can take up arms against the darkness for you are my light
Your majesty, a mountain on the trails we blaze.
My soul:
Glowing in the presence of yours;
A soft, warm, iridescent glow of a being in love.
To me, you are the color of the sky:
The sun rising and setting, every hue.
You are my twilight sky:
Shimmering - glistening - in the light our love creates.
You are an Iris butterfly,
dancing about the lilacs, lavender, and lupine -
So sweet in the ecstasy of us.
You are my Purple Emperor - taking my breath.
You are the Amethyst Starling:
With you, I am alive.
About the Creator
Kitty Fermengs
I try to write a little bit of everything, from a small poem to an epic prose. I live in A constant state of denial that I am any good at what I have chosen as a profession. Give my works a read. Judge for yourself.
Keep reading
More stories from Kitty Fermengs and writers in Poets and other communities.
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.