Lathered in buttermilk,
She pours the wine from the roof of her mouth
"My sprite queen, do you accept the carbonation I offer?"
She stares with those Sugar Glider eyes,
Bubbles refract her tongue.
"This isn't love..."
We had bed bugs for protein
And do you remember the taste of freshly cut grass?
I never complain
No, you will not hear a peep from me
I know the way to your eyes
Pupils dilate. I dream a blue dream.
Distances warped in magical twilight
And your stippled flesh legs
Gunshot smoke on my mind
My body aches for the chemicals you produce.
And I stare at you transfixed when you change into your new clothes
Geometry in Motion
I know the static of your face
Your lips were made for me to rest my weary head.
And I can trace your bones from my forefinger,
The sound of your body
A gurgling sound of flood water rising.
We bathe in each other’s presence
As the fire burns our thoughts.
© A.R. Minhas 2019
About the Creator
A.R. Minhas
Self-published author of 'June is Dreaming'. Voracious reader. Watcher of weird entertainment.
Website: https://arminhas.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/arminhas
Artwork on Redbubble.
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Private queries: [email protected].
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Gossamer
"Murray! Wake up!" He loved that period between waking and dreaming. To him, it was like entering another dimension; more of a dreamscape than dreaming itself. There was an otherness to it that he wanted to grasp and yet deeply respected the fact that it could never be his totally. This is what gossamer was; flighty and light, a wisp of smokiness, an idea suggested but not fully revealed, a slit in cloth, a copse in the wood.
By Rachel Deeming5 days ago in Fiction
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