Fall Flings – Aurora Phoenix

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Fall Flings – Aurora Phoenix

autumn
fickle lover
you tease an aging summer
fill her weary lungs
with the heated breath
of your lost abandon
toss your fiery colors
crinkled casts
of your passionate embrace
at the feet of her sun-soaked journey –
gold threaded vermillion carpets
cushion the heartache
of her grand exit.
your fingerling breezes
caress her flushed brow
dapple sour apple kisses
upon bronzed shoulders
stencil erotic promises
beneath the sinews
of her marching thighs.

autumn
tantric temptress
you entice a nubile winter
fill his cavernous pockets
with polished talismans
of your smoke- breathed vitality
denude yourself of finery
an offbeat up-tempo
strip tease
shivering limbs outstretched
quivering in anticipation
of a lovers’ blanketing.
your razor nailed gusts
race in vixen bursts
grazing his arched spine
entice his withered furor
with amber beams
of half hooded coquetry
lingering languid
upon the clouded steel
of his stealthy advance.

[Aurora Phoenix: I spent over 2 decades as a clinical psychologist, prior to the decimation of my world when I was suddenly incarcerated 2 and a half years ago. My writing was born in that caged existence – not a choice but a soul-saving necessity. I write as Aurora Phoenix at Insights from “Inside”]

It’s no comfort – Samantha Lucero

It’s no comfort knowing that you’re buried,
deep down, taking earth around you
like blankets that fall apart and crawl.

But seasons still disrobed like actors
backstage in a play, in front of
everyone. Even with you
gone, the world moved on.
And I watched. We all did.
Forced to watch, without you,
with seasons pouring the years
between us in vanishing old flannel,
smelling like Salem filter kings,
soft.

Spring grew through us both
like a blade.
And you died in the summer.

A diamond in that box
they buried you in, deep down,
where you fall apart and crawl, too,
by now. Still waiting to be proposed,
like the plan to go back to Santa Fe.

Sometimes I wait for you to show,
maybe at the movie I go to alone,
sitting next to me when I peek over
in the flickering dark.
You could come around a corner
on a walk, and
not even say hello.

When I die, leave my eyes wide open
let them see that I’m dead.
Then burn me,
take my ashes to the Burren
where the wind will tear me apart
and take me farther away.
And my daughters can’t go to my
grave and wonder
Is she alive down there?
Please be alive,
somewhere.

They can breathe me in
Or taste me instead.
when they lick their lips
after swimming in the sea.

And you’ll still be in that box,
waiting to go back to Santa Fe.

 


 

[Samantha Lucero does six red seeds.]