Poetry

Refined

The first line.

That’s all it can take. A statement.

Sometimes bold, sometimes not.

It is exactly what it needs to be.

It can grasp you, choke hold,

demanding to know who you are and why you’re reading it.

It can take your hand and guide you through.

It can push you, head-first, into another universe.

It can offer you a roll of the dice,

or a look into the mirror,

a table at the feast.

Leave you cold. Leave you warm. Leave you flustered.

Make you think you want to quit, then watch as you can’t bring yourself to.

Stamp itself into your mind.  A tattoo you forget about

until you look over your shoulder.

Permanent.

An experience that will never vanish.

Poetry

A painting of Venus

Opening up like a cracked

walnut shell

yearning to peek at the world,

you see a flash of blue satin

dance across the sky.

Tides rise high

and crash

with soft flecks

against your cheek,

staining your skin

with rainbows.

Under your feet

the earth shifts

to accommodate your scent.

It has known you

always,

but now

you have changed.

It must know you again.