The Dreaming Corner ~ vol. 05

Lullaby LoverSweet lullaby lover,
you've sung me to sleep.
Your eyes are an ocean,
and I've dived so very deep.
I whisper I love you,
and you try not to beam.
Sweet lullaby lover,
this must be a dream. LullThe warm bliss of skin
The red drum
and the soft bless
of breath
lulls me to sleep
it used to be mineit's 4:21 am
and i seriously regret
taking that nap at 10 pm tonight.
and i regret
falling asleep on the couch
at 9:17 pm too.
but before i delve too much
into the little mistakes
and way ahead of the big ones,
i wanna talk about the world.
or, well, not
the world.
but your world.
who you are
will not be disclosed
because i open up enough,
and i just want to be
the pages in your folder
so that when you do admit
all you need is a pen with ink.
i will swallow it all down for you.
i will get drunk off of you
as the eyeliner
of your soul's window
trickle down 
into my waiting mouth.
give it time, give it time,
give it time and gravity
will exist heavier
than it ever has
and your grey eyes
make blue, make green,
and the sky
is a changeling.
they'll rain
and you become grey.
then your porcelain
teeth will be the clouds
when the canvas is blue
and your tongue
will produce dew
when the sky
picks up jade hues.
grow and envelope me;
i just want to be the pages
you scribble on.
and i've neve take my breath awayyour calloused fingers
wrap around the delicate frame
of my paper maché lungs
and you squeeze
until my breathes
b u r s t
from my withering lips
like firecrackers
in mid-july.
explosive fits of
flailing limbs come
to a stuttering halt as
your wiry grip inches further
up my trachea--
you couldn’t just stop
at my cresting clavicles and
pull poetry out of their
porcelain exterior,
no you wanted
to see me gasping,
clawing at my throat and
hissing at the icy palms of winter
that trap me as my ribs
catch fire and the last traces
of precious
air trickle from my
weary mouth;
you stole the
only thing I had left
to take.
for the girl teaching herself how to flythe first thing you need
to know about people is this:
your heart is full of open windows
without latches, and rose walls
covered in t h o r n s-
for only tiny pin-pricks go unnoticed
until waves wash over you
but a mermaid has no tears
and therefore suffers so much more
for fun is few and far between
moments of forced silence and quiet words:
speak:
let no one bring you flowers
but those you can watch bloom-
and don't stop until someone says
that girl is a goddamn p r o b l e m
for wolves and girls both have sharp teeth
and know how to use them to their advantage.<da:thumb id="517551925"/><da:thumb id="553612701"/>

Koi Moon (Twitbit 3)silver koi
chases fireflies
across the night's tides<da:thumb id="547892031"/> I bet she smells of laurel and pineI've made a career of
standing on the back porch -
calling your name into
the wide-open ears of
maple leaves.
You step from the house
to beckon me inside
but I swear a piece of you
is missing; escaped
into wilder arms years ago.
Precipitating StormsIt rains so much that you can't tell
whether it's raining,
or whether I'm crying.
Water falls, it's all the same.
For all you know,
I might always be in tears,
always proving that I can't cope,
but even then you wouldn't care
because it's just rain.
It snows enough that you can't tell
whether it's unusually cold
or whether I'm always frigid.
Frost forms on the ground,
every breath
is a breeze that chills,
so what difference does it make?
You're cold either way.
Lightning strikes often enough
that you can't tell
whether I'm angry
or whether it's just expected damage.
A bolt that can shock
in or out of awareness,
but it stings like nettles
whatever causes it.
So why bother to wonder
whether it's weather or climate?
Whatever happens,
it affects you the same way
every time. -exhale-stars and sea
so close together
one falling fireflysoft
gentle
whisper-touch
the campfire murmur
of the firefly
perched on my collar
glowing in beauty
temporal, innocent, finite beauty
that whispers
do you know
asks the firefly
no, I do not
I reply
and we sit there
and he flits through the velvet black
the jeweler's cloth of a July night
we listen to the breeze mingle
with the white pines
the maples are laughing
the sound of their leaves is a purity
that man cannot attain to
gentle the moon barely glides
as the embers pop and crack
sparks rise into the cool air
free-agent ripcords of fire
the fireflies watch them go
jettisoned into the cosmos
the firefly and I
wait
I watch them drift in the aether
while the fire glows a sleepy red
all hands retiring now
lulled into an easy sleep
as the trees laugh in their effervescent way
so clean, so strong
the firefly is the last thing I see
as we disappear into dreams<da:thumb id="378104120"/>

The Dreaming Corner is a feature series highlighting pieces of literature
that have touched and inspired me, making me want to share it with others
in this wonderful community I'm proud to call my own little hub.

Please, give these writers a minute of your time, and enjoy

With love,
Lady-Yume




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previous volumes:
★ vol. 01 - ★ vol. 02 - ★ vol. 03 - vol. 04