Poet, Eliana Vanessa

The Sun and Moon, Apart

we were
never so obvious,
the tattoo of the ouroboros,
inked across Love’s skies,
nor the sin, confessed,
that, in the throes of discovery,
could cast wickedness
upon the bruise of a new life,
but, rather, the eclipse,
fledgling under the guise
of celestial strife,
astrological compass of a tryst,
days spent in torrid bliss,
a constellation, fixed,
birthing the mystery
of memory in flight,
witnessed only, by others,
as the clearest disappearance of light,
lips of a full moon, rising,
above all good reason,
to tame the shine
of so many promises made
and unwed between us,
for we were the lovers, out of our minds,
borrowing from centuries, in kind,
bodies, glowing in the heavens,
in the glimpse of one blinding goodbye.

Silver Lips

i tried 
to tell him
with a kiss,
but his tongue
was a bird,
the absurd word,
and my every attempt
to silence
his nonsense
only caused more noise—
so it goes,
the devil, and his voice,
chasing missed opportunities.

About the contributor

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