Anonymous: Are you dating anybody? Does this influence your poetry?

love, everything touches my poetry. x


Water has taught me so much. | P.s. New poem soon my loves.


her eyes would have you believe
that you speak their language,
but the jagged linings of her irises are not scripture -
know this. and know it well.
bodies do not lie
but eyes do.
show me the trickery
in clammy palms
and bruised necks,
in shaky hearts,
and pulsing groins.
show it to me.
but how tears deceive,
how pupils dilate and contract
saying too many things at once
lids blinking with intention
crowding your mind with ideas—
her eyes would have you believe
that you speak their language,
but do you, really?

this is how i believe
what i believe:
pressed up against its length entirely
exchanging breath
exploring depth
where is the deception in the goosebumps on your skin
so carefully arranged in eloquent Braille.
where is it?
i am blind,
but my fingertips are eager to read
to learn your body
to seek out its truth.

and should the truth really be obsolete
well, your body is not.



how much can we want before it becomes greed?
how deeply can we thirst before it becomes mania?
how completely can we fast before it becomes suicide?
we are the signs of an elusive God
entire generations, searching
for what exactly?
with all our strength, we fight
to retrace our steps back to immortality,
and fall even farther from grace
wreaking cosmic destruction
in attempts to make Gods of ourselves,
more of ourselves,
Gods of ourselves..
all this sky over our heads,
yet we want more.
how high can we reach before it becomes blasphemy?

— la’Rose

363/365 [excerpt]

day did not break with us
we reeked too much of ourselves
our prayers stained with saliva and blasphemy
and wanting too much salvation too quickly



the flood

and this is how we are
when the hurricane hits
when our ears clamour with nothing
but raving water.
no dusk,
no dawn,
no mercy,
just enraged water.
this is how we are
when we behold a flowing, soothing body
morph into something ferocious, unforgiving
when we realize how it can flush us out of the tiniest parts of ourselves
till they can no longer find us
in the crevices
that line our palms,
that dimple our navels,
that wrinkle our skin
until we are completely rinsed out 
and there is no more us left in us
until our veins burst with diluted blood 
until we are nothing. just bloated, floating existence. 
until we are nothing. just raw, pulpy vacuum.

i would have preferred to remain as i was—
a brewing storm;
but a storm at least
brewing at least
alive, at least.


prayers II

to lover
..and if i must love, let it not be unrequited
my lips are the red sea when they part.
my skin is red wine when you drink of my love.
the sky is dusk red when i serenade the sun.
when i love, it is with all of me —
this you know already.

so bring me a dozen red roses.
bring me saturn’s rings.
bring me water from the valley in Aphrodite’s navel.
bring me a token of your love.

prayers I

to God
..and if i must fall, let it not be from pride

empty me of myself
lavish me
with love and suffering
keep me humble
keep me worthy

on sadness, excerpt.

in the belly of the night
the moon found me
on the very edge of existence.
she pulled me gently into her soul
and whispered,
tell me
what does your body know
of surrender?


3 more days. #unityfestival


it takes a different kind of courage 
to fall in love with how infinitely impossible 
it is to understand everything. 
to be at peace 
with knowing that not all things 
are meant to be known, 
or understood.




his eyes were always hollow when they kissed
his pupils, darkened, dilated,
pulsing with blackhole-like energy..
he was empty.
his tongue,
thirsting for any traces of God it could find
on her lips, at the back of her throat,
on her neck, her breasts,
in her navel..
he was deteriorating.
"and i have lots of myself to spare,"
she would purr.
he said she had an unearthly savour
that was so potent
it left spasms in him
that his brain could mistake for signs of life,
and that was good enough for him.
he always went back.
as for his crazed searches for God
on every inch,
every curve,
every cranny in her body..
"don’t sstop. it feels sso goood,"
she would gasp.
that was all she cared for.

348/365 [excerpt]

i melt
and collect into pools of silence
in the depression of your collar bones
reverent, ripple-less
waiting to seep into your throat
imbue all you will ever say
with all of me somehow
drench your voice, before it escapes you,
with presence of my lust



Enrico Ferrarini