Muse-ic To My Ears

 You are my muse conjured up as utopia

i stare at you, and your flaws become my muse. My eyes linger over the crook of your nose, the lines drawn across your face, the rosy tint of your cheeks. i trace the contours of your existence within my mind, imprinting every detail onto my cognition. Never once will i break this gaze of mine, for time halts when my eyes convene with yours. As if in-the-blink of an eye, the hush mosaic of your features blend into my penchant- a work of art i could never dream of conjuring.

Even upon your stillness , you lips part to usher a serenity subpar to that of utopia. The subtle gentleness within the way your head tilts, those pleading eyes that implore my utmost admiration, leaves me yearning to capture you in your permanence. Within your imperfections, i discover a gallery filled with pieces that paint my desire, and in you, that desire reaches its pinnacle.

Spooky

     At the root of every ghost, a yearning. A tug, in which a living person reaches so fervently toward something absent, that the absence becomes bodied.

    As anyone who has know loss understands full well, lack is not in fact, an absence at all. It is a presence. A person we loves dies, or leaves, or changes, and a gap forms. It takes on their shape. Mimics their movement. Echoes their voice like a mockingbird. We feel the gap take up space, filling every place our lost one once was, and now isn't. It reflects in mirrors. Flickers in candle flames. A phantom.

Do you believe in ghosts?

Of course. i have seen longing grow legs and follow me.

Clear As Mud

 For i am the mud~

i breathe in the mud that i am

the scent is unfamiliar, and i am unfazed.

i eye the dust motes 

as they dance in my sunlight

My sunlight,

it is mine.

For i am the mud,

for it should be me unravelling in its glory-

my dreary roots,

My...my... soil,

Il Monstro 2.0

 What i really wanted to say

was that a monster is not such a terrible thing to be.

From the Latin root monstrum,

a divine messenger of catastrophe,

the adapted by the Old French

to mean an animal of myriad origins: centaur, griffin, satyr.

To be a monster is to be hybrid signal,

a lighthouse:

both shelter and warning at once.