I’m speaking to You
I was looking forward to
Crazy, crazy nights
I won’t be provoked
A lonely man once said
By her solemn words, as Cupid’s arrow flying, from those lips he lived for to kiss
Of her, his thoughts were consumed
I won’t be convinced
He’d determinedly decided
By her clean heart, the last of its species dying, from those feet he’d planted in defiance
Of what it is to be loved
Say something here and now to my writer’s eyes and heart. Tell me something mystical or bizarre about yourself. Share anything that will be cathartic for you, or will blow my mind. Enlighten me.
Post your own most favorite photo or other personal work of art.
Write a short story here, and I’ll collaborate and finish it with you.
Or, finish mine:
“Oh, how entirely good it is to be this aged age, having had all the conversations with all the different girls and women who I have been throughout these years! I know who I am, I know what I want, and I know what I am unwilling to do to achieve it. The beautiful mystery that remains is this: What magic-like means are out there in the world that I may take in order to manifest what I want?”
On look out
Why, I?
Wanting her, Liberty
Freedom from all the ways I’ve done her wrong
Or forgiveness
Her eyes, corroded-coppery
Bore one capital “L” unto mine skin
“A Mighty Woman,” I was warned
And so I came, tired
And she welcomed me
And I extinguished her, still
That native language
A foreign-love affair
A promise to live
Always and ever
For the first time
After all those years
Best friends building a home on a hill
Perfect ingredients grown in a garden
Kitchens and dance floors, garages and road maps
Weary-strong hands holding fast in the night
You talked that talk
My eyes were
Just at peace
Found their home
Enthralled
Candycane-swirls
Looking at you
Looking at her
Your eyes were
Far away
Some new home
So my eyes were just
Just and at peace

It is saddening
how much damage he can do
‘fore she stops caring.
Who each woman is
Does she smell like lavender fields
More worthy of obsession with each passing Day
Why the fabric of her dress upon her skin causes men to sing?
The Earth springs forth, as I imagine, musical notes with her every step. Yes.
Such passion must she follow, as to leave us inspired
Her smile draws from an endless-deep joy well
Words from her soul have him come hither, a pulling of magician’s scarf
Juicy
Miracle from God
I met my match in you
Which of us has the quieter lips
The longest green stare?
Mechanical
Bastard, but not exactly
Father-figure to everyone, you
So help me now
Let’s dance, like you said, damn it
My soul the General
Directing a blood battle
Commanding legions of voices in my head
Take no prisoners!
A Civil dissection upon shared territory
Pitting brother truth against father lies 
War already won
But war is hell, and this battle, more so
My aristocratic hands, hard evidence
My afire body, further proof
I’m fireproof and unquenchable
A knifesman and blacksmith to the bone
LisaRosier.com 