Tag Archives: Love

TATI’s & TONY’s DEAD POET TOUR // A Kiss. by Robert Herrick

What is a kiss? Why this, as some approve:
The sure, sweet cement, glue, and lime of love.

by ROBERT HERRICK (1591-1674)
Public Domain Poetry

GUEST POST // When You Go by House of Heart

When you go I become
the sea gull begging salt from
from briny air,
My heart a deep blue sea.
I channel you in the nightingale’s
perpetual call that awakens my
unrelenting desire.
Come the buttery dawn your faded coat
hangs from my bed post and I
become so small I could slip
inside the lining of your chest,
sheltered by the warmth of your
skin where I belong.

by HOUSE OF HEART
© All rights reserved 2024

eyes in the storm

my favourite gift is a closed one
that moment where nothing is known
that calm before an unwrapping storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite book is a closed one
that moment where nothing happens
that calm before a reading storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite lips are closed ones
that moment where nothing is said
that calm before a kissing storm
in anticipation of what’s to come

my favourite heart is an open one
so tell me true, are you ready for war
many shall ride the carousel with me
but few shall choose to stand with me

my favourite casket is a closed one
that moment where nothing remains
that calm after the final storm of
memories of all that’s come & gone

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

bosom garden

i hid a frosted rosehip in my jacket pocket
and dreamt one day it would bloom on my chest
warmed through from its roots around my heart

and i dreamt i would walk for days
and i dreamt i would show them all
the expansive allure of my love

i would protect its fragile petals from the chill
of unkind eyes and the grasp of repressive hands
warmed instead from the light of open hearts

and i dreamt i would walk for gays
and i dreamt i would show het al
the expansive allure of love

by TETIANA ALEKSINA & TONY SINGLE
© All rights reserved 2024

GUEST POST // Back at the start by Whitecatgrove

We return to the beginning, stripped
of our knowledge and rank, bound in white:
a shroud, a swaddling blanket, a bride’s veil,
a drawer stuffed full of rags and bandages.
Trussed up in white and left naked by fear.

The brutal say I don’t learn anything —
that’s why I no longer seek the brutal
as teachers, their blood my blood, their hiss
and spit so familial. Let gentleness
teach me these most difficult lessons

that I must begin again, without rank
or honor to learn a gentle way.
Or perhaps it is the easiest
of tasks: drop your knowledge, begin again
a blank page awaiting a love song —

by WHITECATGROVE
© All rights reserved 2024