You Are So Divine

YOU ARE SO DIVINE
©Pilar Zeta

You Are So Divine
When the air around me turns to velvet
And all the noise escapes from the room,
I appear in a world of somewhere else
A heaven, a galaxy of nature’s womb.
The opacity drops a little more
A film developing with nostalgic-vignette,
And your eyes, your eyes,
Burn me and burn me until I sweat.
Each inhale effortlessly invoked
Every molecule a chemical reaction,
My deity, my daily,
Consumed by immortal attraction.
You are my remembered forever
You are the holder of an unforgettable heart,
My love will leave from you never,
And in that, we create the most spectacular art.

Like A Good Dream

LIKE A GOOD DREAM
© los tomatos

Like A Good Dream
You awoke from me in the middle of the night
When I was drifting in the starlit sea.
You heard my call for kindness
And you answered with brilliant artistry.
My hopeful heart loved without objection.
And like a recollection,
I visit you in the still small moments in between
The middle space, betwixt,
Bewildered and bewitched.
A daze of daisies and dozens of dozy minutes waiting
To feel your dreamweaver love again.
The smell of serenity in the ocean of my sheets
My hand caressing the waves until it finds, the shoreline,
of your skin.
Sweetened honey and lavender sage,
My mind is filled with tastes of you.
We play with words, writing shades of love
And blushes of amber blue.
My dearest dream, and my most-loved star boy
I may be the daughter of daylight
But dance with me here.
In my dreamland, my fantasy of forever love
Where the moon adores us from above
And where we awake from a call by our mourning dove.

Painted Ladies

PAINTED LADIES

Painted Ladies
Painted ladies brushstroke by
As the ink sets in to dry
Truth sets you free,
But where are you, and where is he?
Softly stepping on the sidewalk
As men sleep in driveways
Under the slowly warming sky.
These ladies broke through their cocoons
To migrate and mate
As I’ve done.
Both heading towards the Pacific Northwest
Somewhere with trees
In hope of creating families.
I’ll float alongside you, little butterflies
I’ll take each step with closed eyes,
The tiles may be falling off the walls
But I’m outside now
In motion, and in love for no reason at all.
Brushstroking by
Underneath the still warming sky.

You Are Stronger Than You Think

YOU ARE STRONGER THAN YOU THINK

You Are Stronger Than You Think
When everything is quiet
And you’re nowhere to be found
I begin to blacken pages,
Writing to sages,
About girls in dresses
Walking alone in sunsets
And butterflies silhouetted by moonlight.
We’re all just homesick.
Touching trees and one another
Getting one step closer.
I’ll see you all there
But right now, I’m in repair.
I’m glad it’s warm out,
My sweat reminds me to release
With every breath, I feel a little more at peace.
I close my eyes and walk on ledges now.
My heart is louder than it used to be
Seeing rainbows on my skin previously unseen.
So go ahead little girl,
You have what you need in this world.
You want new words?
Then write to them.
Put jasmine in your hair
Gift love and lightning everywhere.
They might have stars on thars,
And you might have scars on yours
But Jesus, you are brave.
You never wanted normal anyways.
A pang of hunger and curiosity fit for a Queen.
So conquer, love harder and stand up in your dream.
Dance with your own shadow
Kiss your weak knees
Fill your lungs, wraps your hands, stretch your muscles that aren’t yet sore.
Look up to your home and say, “Please,”
“Give me more.”

I Will Wait

I WILL WAIT

I Will Wait
The days without you aren’t the same.
Quiet echos louder without your music
My voice doesn’t ring the same tone
And the light sits lower on the walls.
How do I guide you home?
My words haven’t worked
And my lips fall off track.
I want your real love.
Waiting has never been my strong suit
But your skin.
The spot right alongside your hip
My fingers were there
And I heard your deep moan into my neck.
I wriggle and re-position my hips,
As I remember your pulse underneath me,
Nearly inside me
As your fingers explored the source of my warmth.
But why only once?
When my ears hear the blood in my heart
I know it’s you in my veins.
My impatient body is selfish
But I don’t blame my primal desire
You are
Just too great.
So I will sit,
I will walk
I will eat
I will sleep.
And something will bring you to me.
Some word, some song, some fairy tale
Will remind you and guide you
And I will be ready.
With all my human and inhuman thirsts.
With all my readiness to love you.
But today just isn’t the same, without you.

The Gift

THE GIFT
The Gift
She unfolds as she sees fit.
No need for expectations
Or timelines
Impatience or needs.
All your needs are met.
She sees to them as a gift-giver.
She gives the gift of life,
The gift of joy,
The gift of awakening,
And the gift of love.
It’s not patience you are lacking
It’s trust.
Trust her.
Her divine selflessness,
Her ability to know you
And your deeper dreams,
The ones you haven’t told
The ones you keep close.
Trust she hears you and
Trust she cares enough.
Lower your shoulders
Release your jaw
And feel her comforting pulse.
That beating in your chest
It’s her knocking at your door.
She’s ready to gift you.
She’s been waiting for you to answer
And where have you been?
Go to her
There is no fear here.
She may have pain,
She may share agony
But beneath that Pandora’s box
There lies what you seek.
What you’ve always been seeking.
Freedom.
That soul-shaking connection
A love that vibrates inner knowing
And multidimensional, unconditional, unrestrained, limitless and great
love.
Take off your clothes
Walk to her naked
Open the door, open your light
And receive her.
She is gifting you now.

Press Play

PRESS PLAY

Press Play
You’re a slideshow.
A breathing VHS
That flickers and flits through still images
Until I see you clearly.
The time you said you were home
Red hues painted on your face
Avocado-stained fingers
Sitting cross-legged on my rug.
The movie skips back,
Further yet,
Standing in a field, dowsed in moonlight
So close.
Mist leaving a dewy cold on my neck
And further back it rewinds
To that time
When I handed you a poem
Nestled in our very own sandcastle.
Rapidly skipping with quick glimpses
Of little glances
In a car at 1am.
Simple touches after nightmares
On a couch at 3am
And a handshake that turned into…
Hearts beating so loud it startles the trees,
And visions of making love
And you kissing me.
Please, press play.
I tell myself to stop rewinding
But it fast forwards instead
A garden with a toddler playing
A kindhearted mother and a hospital bed
And nose nuzzles with a little baby girl.
I hear her name.
The frame
Regains integrity
With clarity
I see you.
We will have love like no other,
We will play in pillow forts
And songs and words, poems and paintings
Will fill the walls
And the halls
And it all
Smells of sunshine.
I watch this every day.
Feeling a hand on my neck
Another wrapped around my waist
I close my eyes and
Dissolve into my favorite place.
Only for a minute.
Only for today.
Just knowing this exists is enough.
It’s enough, if it needs to be.
But if you want to watch this movie with me,
If you share in this daydream
Sit, shake my hand
Press play and let’s see.

Craving Connection

CHINESE NEW YEAR

Craving Connection
The nameless old man walked slowly down the street.
Purposefully he placed each foot
Like a gentle kiss on the Earth beneath him.
Walking towards her
A beacon, on the sun-drenched stoop.
Her golden, red hair and head in prayer,
Quietly he approached her.
Not to break either meditative concentrations
But with thought, he asked,
“Why are you so sad, little girl?”
The sleepwalking sweetheart only raised her head.
Like a buttercup humbly accepting the first amber glow of day.
Her arm extended like a morning stretch
Moving through water,
Breath low in her belly.
She simply touched his arm in connected relief.
Without breaking any code of silence,
He heard her unspoken words.
His body a bristlecone pine,
A living witness to more than a million sunrises and sunsets.
The ground became a symphony of economy
And her, the conductor.
Stillness lowered the gravity of the air around them.
And just for that moment,
The only two people in existence
Were the nameless old man and that sad little girl.

A Dying Man’s Last Breath

A DYING MANS LAST BREATH

A Dying Man’s Last Breath
As the ripe November moon rises
The not yet old man lays dying.
Not on his bed, nor on his floor,
Somewhere in between.
Discerning his last breath,
For only a moment, with gravity and importance.
Fragrant childhood fields of tiger lilies
Begin to bloom in his married room,
And the smell of old red and rotted barn doors.
Fantastic is the taste of a sweet and plump tomato,
Round and robbed right out of his mother’s garden.
The only background music,
A soft hum of Indianian wind through cattails.
Endless sunshine soaks his skin which now is filled with absolute youth.
Thousands of unreserved sunsets
That turn to a lifetime of coruscating evening skies.
66 years of first kisses grace his lips,
So does that bitter bathtub gin from senior prom.
Accomplishment arrives in his chest,
Inflating with words from his father, “I’m proud of you, son,”
Awakening in his fading ears.
Then he sees her.
In a form of remembered innocence,
With fiery hair
And a fiery soul that burned his taste for anyone else.
Anyone else but her.
Looking down, now dressed in his bridegroom clothes.
And her,
In a springtime of white and wonder.
Hearts hopeful with promise and eager to begin
His hands idle to build something.
A home.
Seemingly no time passes before she is quick with child.
And then he sees her.
With fiery hair
And a fiery soul that burned his adoration for anyone else.
Anyone else but her.
Feeding her watermelon with salt sprinkled on top
Just to watch her little nose crinkle.
The smell of fresh-cut, summer-kissed and dewy dawned grass
And her little toes.
How could anything ever be so tiny?
His arms warm with heavy bodies of wife and child.
A warmth that cascades
A warmth like a waterfall of tenderness over steep rocks of stoic features.
Seemingly no time passes and yet another miracle is delivered.
Then he sees her.
With fiery hair
And a fiery soul that burned his thanksgiving for anyone else.
Anyone else but her.
Pink satin swirling in his room,
His girls dancing in princess costumes.
His hair, now, a black and white photograph
As his girls all shine with vibrant hues of tenacity and resilience.
Flying and soaring over his perfectly manicured landscape
He planted over 100 pine trees,
His living picture frame proudly displaying what he had built.
Hands now lined, scarred, tattered and weak
As they grasp the bedside table in preparation for his last exhale.
His final act as a husband.
His final act as a father.
His final act as a man.
As millions of others have done before,
But not quite like him.
No, not quite like him at all.
He stood, so very tall,
Overlooking his kingdom,
On the sanded, stained and decades-old porch he built with his own two hands,
And the hands of his wife,
And the hands of his daughters.
Gentle snow or ash or princess glitter falls, tingling on his not yet old skin
As he smiles,
Welcoming the warmth of a new day.