pillow talk

the rain wanted to undo
the sun, peel off her
layers, pin her across a blue
sky turned grey –
unwind the threads, one by one
even if they were frayed
to love each hue down
into the ground, see her
true colors bloom, not fade –
arching her back, she listened closer
to what the rain had to say

pink eyelids

to press my face into the sky
wind wrapping warm arms around
my waist, the sun turning my
vision pink when i close my eyelids
to let my daydreams arise
reality softly sinks into the riverside

荒れた海の夢

Wind raked the back of the water,
Her skin ripping like chalk and powder
In the night – waves rumbled, clenching
their teeth as they tried to toss lost
Ships up into a starry night – their sails
taking flight like exhausted seagulls,
grey and weary from a long day,
roaming far and in between
their home and the foam crawling
along the edges of the waves

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: elevate

The title 「荒れた海の夢」 is read as
“ah-reh-tah oo-mi no yoo-meh”, which
means “the dream of a stormy sea” in Japanese. 

a dying ocean

i hold the shell to my ear
to hear the ocean, but
she remained quiet
on the other side of the line
i continued to listen for
a sign, and she said
you have your own voice,
i can’t lend you any more
of mine because someday,
sometime in the future,
nothing will be left of me
i’ll have vanished into
the divine

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

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: trance

tired Earth

Earth had a bad night on the town
took a gamble, hit
with a storm, drank a little too much
until she drowned –
cold to the touch, but she was still
breathing – took one last long
drag on a cigarette, puffed out
smoke in the faces of trees
while thinking of leaving

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written by Tiny Fawns for daily prompt: foggy

when the sun doesn’t speak

there are some days
the sun doesn’t wish to
speak to us, so she weakly
covers up, pulls up a cloak
of clouds to block the way
between us, so our gaze
is haunted by a rainy gray
her murmurs muffle, becoming
thunder rustling through
the leaves of the sky

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