Five ways to make perfume. I Blade the neck of flowers. Distill oil, soft as vanilla. II First bite into apple. Growing a thin amber of silk wings. Upon another layer, threads. V Moonlight on your arms. The fruit of my desire.

What is a tango for one,. Sad music of a lone guitar? What use are red high heels. When they no longer have partners? The cobbled streets are lonely,. The shops are shuttered,. The cathedral bells are dull. With more longing and more desire. I turn slowly, on my own,.

If I was a rose and you had choice,. Would you pick me, pluck me down from the tree? Would you hold me soft in the palm of your hand,. Hold my blush to the rose of your cheek? My mouth is a rosebud waiting for kisses;. My heart is in blossom pulsating for you. Please will you choose me; please love me.

Poetry by Hope to know is nothing at all to imagine is everything anonymous. I am a wife and a mother of six children. All of which are over the age of 18. I am also a grandmother. My interest is to share my poetry. I hope you appreciate them. If you have any comments I am open to all tasteful responses and thank you so much for taking the time to read them. Tuesday, March 25, 2014. I walked a path all rough and worn. Of poverty; when I was born.

Tuesday, March 17, 2015. A man steps off the curb. The corner of an intersection. His face a mess of angles. Like Moses parting the waters,. A player scoring the game winning shot. A symphony conductor about to strike. BooM, BOOm, bOOM goes the bass drum,. Cars dive and spin, smashing into one another.

Easing my way back into writing with mindfulness, introspection, and writing challenges. Sunday, October 5, 2014. A year of the blues. Saturday, September 27, 2014. A brush of your hand. Is enough to light up my world. Friday, September 26, 2014. Photo by Brian Beam, 2005 Volastra, Cinque Terre, Italy. Lizard on flower pot edge.

Of a soft, fragrant. Mdash; Leave a comment. And moments of passion,. Space as I read an. Of a linear, temporal path. To ash, each word burns.