the kiss

night wears mist like
stockings, she kissed the
moon, sending him
blushing, running after
the sun

___
backdated Post A Day poem for September 6th, 2017

caffeine, moon watching

furrowed brows sink their fangs into the skin
of a man’s face – he’ll bend his focus around
the bodies of coffee cups, every morning and possibly noon
watch that caffeine spoon feed him enough life
until he’s staring wide-eyed, watching for sleep
while staring at the man in the moon

___
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: critical

the dream cycle

my heart is not silent
but i keep my mouth quiet
holding my breath, dreams
pressing their fingertips
against the door, it tiptoes
open, slightly ajar –
their seams unwind in the night
spilling out a golden light
as far as the moon can see
wishing to himself
to feel the sea washing over
his skin, longingly looking
at the high tides and low tides
bending into the night,
blanketing the world – keeping
her charms and secrets
out of sight

___
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: magnetic

proverbial rain

and when my mind folds into the warm dark blue hue
of quiet that lies below the hushed whispers of a morning mist
that grew into clouds, rolling their body over the last few
shadows of the night, before the sun flew a curveball
of yellow – splashing the world in lemonade – when my mind fades
in between the fine lines rippling of the sunlight and the shade
scratched by leaves, i’m left to believe that what remains in question
can be answered, if we listen to the proverbs written by the rain

__
written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: trance

murmurs

there are songs
you feel
pressing their faces in
vulnerable places
and you grab them by the hair
let them stare you hard in the eyes
reading everything between
the lines
and when they rise,
to form words
you savor their taste
in your mouth
then let them roll out
against the skin of the night
to be heard

mother nature, 3 years old

she picked up chalk and
covered the skies with clouds
and shrouded the sidewalks with
shadows running long
under the sun

___
backdated Post a Day poem for June 19th, 2017

the origin of mist

night pulls open the curtains,
taking her time – slowly
letting the moonlight press
cold fingertips against her skin
she spins webs, hanging stars within
their spirals. the end of her day
approaches, she sweeps up a ball
of dreams into her fist – the ones
that slipped from her grasp
settle into the dawn, becoming mist

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: amble

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