Mags Loves Jimi

“They thought I was a Surrealist, but I wasn't. I never painted dreams. I painted my own reality.” ― Frida Kahlo

Category: Vignettes

#Untitled 48 (Two of a Kind)

 

We stand, two of a kind.

Drawn in by numbers and figures –

dates for data (minding our pasts).

I saw her in you as you saw me in you. Were we fools, to begin with, or has love done something crazy (immaculate)?

I see not her, but me in her… (I guess a past of the past too.)

If I could visualise a space where we too could meet, right at the middle, it would be because we’re two of a kind.

So then, do you remember which one

is me?

# Untitled 47 (Needed Me)

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I saw the drive. Adrenaline and accessories –

to a murder, of course.

(our love)

Stretched out, soothed in. We stroke long to widen depths. The weight, of obscure decisions.

You, first in. Me, best dressed.

The terms of carrying it all… offloading and truth-bending. Dooming shores where supply meets demand, as we clutch onto places known best.

Closing.

And opening. 

And closing again.

# Untitled 46 (Sail On)

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I didn’t care for it –

the sonnets in simple minds.

But you flood in.

Too late,

already baited;

the call-to-action is clear.

                                                                       Sail. Steer. Stifle. Stilt. 

And I remember how easy it was –

                                                                                       (Minding the gap.)

Playing my tune.

Bending fingers with keys

that licked and spiked

                                                       our interests.

Are you still

staring at the moon, my love?

Waning for me.

Lemonade | National Poetry Day

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The summer romance sings –

soothing with supple,

and slender

sights.

Who knows when trees will bloom?

I lift my eyes and all is new –

Who holds the hearts of sinners renewed?

I sing to speak –

So to speak is to say;

“Despite it all,

I’ve had my way.”

(Don’t worry,

Spring sings for you,

too).

#NationalPoetryDay

# Untitled 45 (Thirsty)

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I remember the taste –

the thirst.

Wet and wondrous.

                        (Parched)

for necks.

Churning with delight

as lips

stroked bibs

on heads.

                                                Hung-up.

Lapping on hydration

                                                     and (hope).

Should I dip again?

Or swallow impulses

to spill.

# Untitled 44 (Midnight)

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I wonder if you look for me

in crevices.

Words stuck on fingers.

Press.

Pray.

I scroll –

l o n g,

callously.

Back of bend

and bent.

Where are you,

my love?

# Untitled 43 (Fitting Room)

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Distance can be detrimental,

dressed in decisions with no luxury to tailor.

My words are meant to cut –

Prick things once left blunt.

Are you still telling truths

Or do you need

another fitting?

Couture to contour your plight?

Don’t downsize

my power.

It is not to be sampled –

grown through seams.

Glowing in the midst

of beach-born brevity.

(so smooth)

My words.

They are true to sight,

Measuring ready-made memories.

I cast shadows on silhouettes –

Slim fit.

The plus-side

of worn suiches

and

organza laced re-collections

altered to fit

one season.

Cash or credit?

# Untitled 42 (In Response)

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* Erik Madigan Heck for The Cut

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In response:

I, under

the mood,

muse.

*

Tell me how many stars

were

– stolen

for me?

*

“I’m coming…”

Opening the door,

greeting you.

*

We wax.

Mood & might.

# Untitled 39 (W.O.M.B Woman)

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(Woman Observing | Mission Blooming)

***

My womb is hurting me.

It howls at night, growling me to stand –

Bend at will.

Lose sleep. Loose sheets. (We weep for little girls.)

My womb is stripping me –

Camping in tabernacles.

Wo(men) hope.

Taunt while we tempt.

Digress.

Read the rest of this entry »

# Untitled 38 (Conversate)

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Your prophetic,

lucid words confuse me into petty conversation;

                                                                        What was that about the weather?

My attempt to punish –

                                       (withhold)

                                                                                                    keep –

from you

would be in vain.

                                                               But oh,

 how I love!

(vanity.)

 


 

Written in response to The Daily Post’s Daily Prompt – “Third Rate Romance.”