Subtle Beauties
Living moments, tangled in memory.
The fog of rain over city skylines, the planet
awash with grey. Your worn fingers
//
kissing my chest, drawing pictures in my flesh--
untethering my scars from my brain.
//
The smell of sweat after sex, hands filling
my hair, weaving through knots.
//
Laughter.
Petrichor.
//
Mist slowly seeping; her gentle body
sinking into Earth's folds.
//
The shine of Earth's skin, atmosphere
saturated with sadness. My body
//
the middle spoon between You
and old, greying fur. Paws stretching
into hands--big stretch--kneading.
//
Claws pricking my fingertips.
My blood staining the surface. Green eyes
widen and blink, slow.
//
The sound of their small bodies, rumbling.
A euphony of small hearts,
beating.
//
The soft of Your cheek as it yields
to my lips. The texture of Your shoulder
//
buried
against my mouth, our arms tightly bound.
//
The cold rain pelting our backs as we run
inside--keys left far behind.
//
Red break lights illuminating us, grasping
the details of Your skin. Subtle threads--
//
a history entangled
in memory. My need
//
to kiss You. Language
coiling down my tongue like a bullet
//
verbatim: vibrations orbiting
our personal solar systems. The stars
//
and sky--reflecting in Your eyes. Your soul
reaching out
//
to mine.
//
Whines, unhinged, roaring from four-legged bodies:
canine melodrama candidly melting
against me. Their eyes a pool
of unadulterated love.
//
Music strumming the air--a universe
tucked beneath us, revealed
//
briefly
through us, into our minds.
//
Piano keys below fingers: entangled
sounds
//
freed.
Quiet worlds existing around us, unnoticed. Coded
//
genius living inside tiny mechanical brains;
interacting, inspiring. The comfort of the strange.
//
The strangeness of comfort.
//
Your body reassurance, engulfing me as I cry.
Your mouth wet against mine, eyes
//
closed, whispering:
It's okay to cry.
//
Your hands warm, fingers intertwined.
The tethering of bed at night, our bodies
//
settling. The subtle beauty of simply resonating--
hearts
//
below ribcage, a rainbow
below skin--
//
waking up,
and breathing in.
About the Creator
Corvus
Corvus is a kaleidoscope of Gothic word-craft, stuck somewhere within the hurricanes of prose and poetry and wrung out on each page. Find more fragments of the love letter on their website, corvuslove.
FPS: The Last Flame Challenge Winners
Welcome to our first Winners Announcement of the year and to the final challenge in the Fall Poetry Series. The Last Flame invited writers to sit with endings, using fire as a central image to consider what remains when something burns out: ash, warmth, memory, silence, or the faint promise of what comes next. The strongest pieces treated endings as gradual rather than sudden, allowing them to flicker, dim, and linger.
By Vocal Curation Team5 days ago in Resources
Comments (1)
well done