Theme

365

i.
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?

ii.
this is how i believe
what i believe:
pressed up against its length entirely
exchanging breath
exploring depth
shivering.
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.

iii.
and should the truth really be obsolete
well, your body is not.
la’Rose

364/365

Babel

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
searching
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

 la’Rose

362/365

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;
alone,
but a storm at least
brewing at least
alive, at least.

la’Rose

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.
la’Rose

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
la’Rose

on sadness, excerpt.

once,
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?

la’Rose

3 more days. #unityfestival

175/365

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.

la’Rose

168/365

flamesunfurl:

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
somehow
imbue all you will ever say
with all of me somehow
drench your voice, before it escapes you,
with presence of my lust
somehow

la’Rose

hannabalxmarie:

Enrico Ferrarini

186/365

there are times
when i cannot in good faith
offer cups of myself
to another
to drink.
no matter the height of their
thirst for me,
no matter the breadth of pleasure
they promise me in return
for sip of me.
i see more of myself than they do
naive and unseeing in their lust
they do not know
that my aftertaste is more overpowering
intoxicating
than anything they could ever taste
they would drown
in residue
of me.

la’Rose

346/365

you sit at a restaurant
wine in glass
completely still
completely aware that
ten breaths across from you
sits the love of your life 
the wielder of your heart
the razor in your chest
the ache between your thighs
he is leaving
you are still
in the process of realizing this
like sudden drops of blood
leaking onto your palm
from the ceiling
you are not sure what is happening,
but you are already panicking
your neck is tense
your lips, a sharp line
the air is shrinking away from you
tiptoeing away from you
i mean, it’s awkward
there is not enough space
in any given second
to contain the mass of words swelling inside your throat,
threatening explosion..
he is leaving.
you do not feel betrayed.
just raw. like you no longer have skin.
like there are wounds in your wounds.
like flesh soaked in vinegar.
but anyway, before it’s too late:
bottom lip.
crook of neck.
birthmark on right earlobe.
flutter in lashes.
splinter in brow.
phantom in iris.
judas in the set of his jaw
you study your lover
attentively.
committing every swollen breath
to memory.
committing sins against your soul—
like loving too deeply a man
whose deepest feeling toward you was
curiosity.
a man whose deepest ache for you was
in his groin.
a man who found it possible—easy even
to just leave.
you study him
attentively
committing to memory
every gradient of your anguish
as you stumble along this process of realizing
you appear calm,
licking wine off your lips,
fingers pressed against rim of wine glass.
he is gone.
and you are becoming.
you vow never to forget
this pain.


la’Rose