I'm a firm believer that you never truly stop loving your first  true love. 

My first true love, she was beautiful. 

She was beautiful after she had danced under the stars and the moon, finally letting herself be free. 

She was beautiful with wind blown hair and sparkling,
mirth filled eyes as we laughed at some joke. 

She was beautiful in the way she walked,
with the sassy swing of her hips. 

She was beautiful in the way she talked,
the sound of her voice was like music to my ears. 

She was beautiful in the way she smiled, the genuine smile that she barely showed anyone,
the one that she said only I ever noticed wasn't forced. 

She was beautiful in the way she laughed,
that hearty laugh that made me so happy. 

She was beautiful in the way she cared for everyone important to her, even if it meant sacrificing her own happiness. 

She was beautiful in the way she cried, because when she cried in my arms,
it meant she trusted me enough to see her like that. 

She was beautiful in the way she smelled, her scent was sweet, something I could only describe as the source of my peace. 

She was beautiful, in the way she loved wholeheartedly,
even if I never truly noticed it for my own foolishness. 

And she is beautiful as she tries to fight the illness that threatens to take her life, even if the only reason she decided to live, was for others.




©Words of a withering soul

Her brown eyes are like polished
mahogany, their rich hue deepened with a subtle glimmer, lacing beauty into every flower bed they touch. They hold an irresistible warmth and clarity, reflecting a depth that's both inviting and enigmatic—like the first sip of coffee on a quiet morning, awakening something deep inside. They shimmer, like stardust, each glance revealing a gentle spark, as if they're harboring a soft, unspoken magic just for you.

there is a tree
growing in this
womb
its roots cracking
from fissured earth
the trunk, in layers
                    unwrapping
sprouting solid
from ancient rebirth
Breathing light
into branches,
unfurling -
not always
with ease, yet
always in a rising,
not always in comfort
but in the end
a widening,
        lit horizon
of past blood lining shed
of crimson cycles renewed
of old patterns,
            gone and dead
of mosaic seedlings strewn
and now before
sacred eyes
a photosynthesis occurs
revealing leaflets, tender
reaching into
grounded universe
I am a star-system
a stellar orbit landscape
a singing cosmic rune
a ring of phosphate fire
under tourmaline moon
rubies, garnets, onyx
all pouring from this
innermost, feminine cavern
liquid gold, in lava form
precious metals,
a righteous storm
wild dancers
around the blaze
swaying magic
in midnight haze
and here I stand,
in uterine gleam
the fruit of my soul
the queen
          of my
dream

a dream
that's you are
just a dream
nothing else

He sails along the open seas
She lingers beneath the waters
Her sultry voice calls to him
Luring him into her waters
He's a sweet man
That's what she finds most enticing
She sings her song of heaven
Until he travels within her reach
Then her song changes from heaven to death
He doesn't realize it
He's captivated
He thinks she's perfect and harmless
Her intentions, however, aren't so pure
She doesn't mean to
She's lonely
But she can't resist the hunger for his soul