Quiet
moon
lighting a corner of my dream
His face has no face
is every face and not one
still I want him
He, who I love
is inside me without me
sleeping somewhere, ruffling
my dream
so that now I can reach the zenith of his absence
His name is his name
a secret we don't share
still I want him
His pulsing is memory
an echo begun before I was born
His voice is his voice
keen, fitful gusts
whispering under my words
still I want him
He who I love is slipping inside me
the way it was
and never was
I give him my dream
my wakefulness,
the moon in silent movement
revolves with emptiness
About the Creator
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Affection and Healing for Yourself
During the night of the last quarter moon, I gathered my ritual supplies. I carefully handled the chunk of black tourmaline that would protect me from your overall negative and narcissistic energy. I carefully walked the house with my stick of selenite in hand, asking the universe to cleanse our working space.
By Alisha Wilkins ✒️🦋🖋️2 days ago in Fiction
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