In the wilderness

every animal

says

Wiedersehen

into sleep

pulling

caliginous twig

shadows wave

see you again

later, my friends

separation blue

on the horizon

Baiji in dreamscape

shhh... make

believers of us, kin

in the signs shedding

amidst the leaves

long staring swells

beneath, watching

as seeds and spores

float downwind

while we remain

rooted in

10.29.2024

Wiedersehen challenge @CKMunsell

Fated lovers pause

’Midst moonlight's painted glow -

Star scattered skies and

Dual moons mirrored,

Hunting twin souls afar -

Two hearts, one beat -

Over deserts and destined pathways,

Mountains, seas, and skies,

Submitting to the moon's direction

Draped in love's fateful guise.

As though entwined, two hearts

Leap to the beckoned echoes

Of a hunter's moonlight,

Quivering, glowing, gleaming

As flower petals fall,

Stretching far over skies

That seek only to divide.

Twin souls and twin hearts

Find the intersecting solace,

Crisscrossing and aligning

'Neath one fated moon,

As they answer love's

Destined, gallant call.

Cynthia Calder, 10.17.24

I moved to California

so I could eat “In N Out“

in the parking lot

under palm trees that are

technically dying, and not living

but there’s something horrific

about opening up a ketchup packet

and watching it explode

all over your white dress,

the adrenaline of it, the equivalent

of a bloody mess that bleach can’t fix

what have you done,

you think, moving thousands of

miles west

for a burger that’s just average,

the outline of your past a stain

that’s still visible, the “In N Out” logo fading to grey inside your mouth, colorless

I did it all to escape autumn

all that orange and yellow,

the blood red trees a reminder

of what kills us

when we let it linger

My mind is a lunatic's attic, filled with the rusty, dusty, moldy, moth-eaten, cracked, and bent brick-a-brac of foolishness, folly, and general fuckery. It needs to be cleaned out, but who knows, I might need that list of synonyms for, the word, "Penis" that I've carefully curated and committed to memory someday.

Vests of lust's fresh seed

Vein to a licentious bleed

Vents lush blush of need

Cynthia Calder, 10.05.24

François Moreau, though two seconds from ejaculating, had descended into the throes of indecision and self-loathing. The idea of bringing new life into this cruel and dying world tormented him beyond measure, but he knew that if he pulled out now, he would forever lose the only woman he had ever truly loved.

if it's true

that we ought love

everyone then,

each of us should

comprise an odd 8 billion

quilted pieces, growing,

though our flesh appears

relatively smooth, even if

contiguous to each other

mentally fragmented a bit

in calico and seersucker

...but love is a-proportional

and we've 330 billion cells

replaced daily

in which it's hidden

we love some more

we love some less

we toss some out

every seven days

some we try to keep

as memories like bones

for years...

we want to say,

beating the chest, gently

Love is immaterial, forever

just depends on the material

09.30.2024

"You are a patchwork of everyone you've ever loved" challenge @AJAY9979