ShopDreamUp AI ArtDreamUp
Deviation Actions
Literature Text
Late at night your promises echo just like
dopplered pluckings on hydrogen filaments,
ranging in tone from Kaus Australis to
ecliptical Aries; analogous to
the naked-eyed magnitude of your spiral
fingers holding mine with densité stellaire
in what was perhaps love’s perfect learning curve:
Following close Arcturus’ arc and moving
down on Spica, against the parallax blurred
brocade that marked your vector-strained homecomings.
One too many sydonic revelations
through a single revolution inside your
cosmic webs, your accretion hums invading
me and discarding me in tight conjunction,
piercing dark spots across a chromospheric
un-stasis that nothing but your touch can heal.
dopplered pluckings on hydrogen filaments,
ranging in tone from Kaus Australis to
ecliptical Aries; analogous to
the naked-eyed magnitude of your spiral
fingers holding mine with densité stellaire
in what was perhaps love’s perfect learning curve:
Following close Arcturus’ arc and moving
down on Spica, against the parallax blurred
brocade that marked your vector-strained homecomings.
One too many sydonic revelations
through a single revolution inside your
cosmic webs, your accretion hums invading
me and discarding me in tight conjunction,
piercing dark spots across a chromospheric
un-stasis that nothing but your touch can heal.
Literature
the drum
yesterday:
I live inside a drum. I live beneath a beautiful stretched sheepskin, and on warm days the sun lays her head upon the face of the drum—softly humming.
I’ve always lived inside the drum, and so have my mother and father. My family has lived inside the drum for generations, along with all of my neighbour’s families. We know the winter songs to be jeering in tone but elegant in mood.
My mother speaks fondly of her life in the drum—most often of her childhood. When we used to go to the fields in the summer she would lie on the softly swaying grass, holding me close to her breast as she would recount storie
Literature
Unease
The world will face its early end
When scorn becomes the new trend
The remaining hope is our sense
Only we can save the world from its absence
Literature
Relive
and you and i relive our joy every night without much thought about why we do it we share the details of our secret loves with one another rekindling the fire that sparked it all the glimmers the sparkle the glamour of that first interest leaves you and i hungry and i believe you and i are growing closer by these addictions and vices we feed at 3:15 am this dream exchange is going to crash one day because the money we stake on this dream talk is quite a big gamble and we, the poor and sensitive, are running out of free passes yes one day either we will consume our dreams or they will consume us.
Suggested Collections
Featured in Groups
"I remember when I was a baby
staring in amazement at the sun.
Better shield your eyes now little baby
no one ever said you were the one
who can't be blinded by the sun...
..I think I'm blinded by the sun."
From Primus' Antipop Track 6 "Eclectic Electric" (Interscope, Prawn Song. 1999)
staring in amazement at the sun.
Better shield your eyes now little baby
no one ever said you were the one
who can't be blinded by the sun...
..I think I'm blinded by the sun."
From Primus' Antipop Track 6 "Eclectic Electric" (Interscope, Prawn Song. 1999)
© 2013 - 2024 ThyPoetSorcerer
Comments13
Join the community to add your comment. Already a deviant? Log In
It's wonderful how you can pull together so seemingly effortlessly something as distant as the stars and something as intimate as love.
I spy Primus on the description. Nice.