and musings from “spirit world with geoa”

soft little crows feet, walking across cold cobble steps

death creeping and fighting, waddling with blades of light and arrows that fade, into wizards and demons and lost souls that just want to go home

collecting and filling your cup with bright-sharp light

death’s door playing on your laptop, whirring and clunky, cold winter day and rain drumming across glass windows

grey sky, peaceful but loud and empty, fingers aching as the sun sets, bones and brain protesting the dark

playing with death like spiritfarer and hades,

heart and smile, wondering


they feel so familiar


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I wish to speak, of your neck, sweat dripping down your skin

rolling onto mine as you smile

of the light across your back, lighting up our room

of our hearts, racing

your colours shimmering, changing

of my eyes, flashing into you


and holding.

I wish to speak to you, but

words are gone and all I hear is music,

the faint lilt of fey and fiddles and moors

of dirt and joy and sky

of teeth and darkness, held in rapture, together.

My lips whisper softly

My fingernails, dig deep

blood races under skin and eyes and nerves,


to eat and drink and breathe you in

I wish to speak

but the moon tolls louder

my voice, lost

to mouths and nods and smiles

and I wish

to hold you

as we rest.


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