To my liquid lover


*Image found HERE

To my liquid lover

The lights on the bridge were purple tonight,
Like a runway awaiting paper planes
Under the half-moon.
A night that lays so easy on your skin,
Like a summer dress.
I can hear the guitars
Rocking the boats,
Drunk fisherman
Spilling their guts into music.
Tossing their souls like pebbles.
Give ‘em ripples,
Give em pennies,
Just make something happen,
A dog is howling,
The street is empty of words,
The lonely – crumbled in their sheets and weeping.
The concrete is wet and blooming,
Everything is still,
Virginal and yearning,
Everything trapped between
Ordinary tones
Of windows opening and closing,
Everything distant,
So distant that the trees
Retreat to eulogies.
The air smells like
Shed feathers of salt,
Like breath of slumbering mermaids.
Like gentle clacking and rubbing
Of olives,
Like a peeled mandarin
Staining a pretty, red mouth.
Like sea.
And I miss you.

~ by Oloriel on July 18, 2014.

26 Responses to “To my liquid lover”

  1. Fantastic!!

  2. Amazing picture and I love the imagery in the poem. Especially how it hits on various senses instead of just sight.

  3. Reblogged this on iKu2e.

  4. Extraordinary your words are magic!

  5. Last line…says it all.

    • Yes. I was hoping it will manage to show the contradictions, how no matter how something is beautiful or ugly but not ours, we will still feel a void if we are not with the ones we love.

  6. Divine… the emptiness that is produced and set up since the very beginning turns into a single statement in the end. And some amazing imagery: Drunk fisherman spilling their guts into music, Like a peeled mandarin staining a pretty, red mouth.
    You weave magic through your words.

  7. Beautiful!

  8. Purple lights?

  9. Reading you after a long time. And the magic of words still continues.

  10. Vividness. Profundity. Depth. Your strengths. Much enjoyed. And loved. Shared even.

  11. I really love this poem. Truly. I can’t pick a favorite line or stanza because the whole thing strikes me as magnificent. Bravo, you! Thank you for sharing it with us.

  12. Here, salt rushes blind in a briny slurry, from three miles down tearing from a wound in to night’s dark winter air, like an Arctic blast it twists and turns, but searing super heated at a fringe to a peaceful oceans songs…

    • Thank you very much for the heartfelt comment, as always, Sean 🙂

      • Paper planes under a half moon, imagery to see them launch fills the thoughts here, while paper boats rock in a deep lilac light. Is it possible to fall beneath a poem’s egress, a poem’s right to go out into the world from the moment it made flight. Where did you be, for like a painting each word’s colour brightens one night at a time to each hour past. I came back to this one, as I’ve a thing for paper and her songs borne in each fold.

  13. Yes please! 🙂
    Near beginning!

Tell me something

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s


mapping the nest

Amethyst Review

New Writing Engaging with the Sacred

Anatolios Magazine

[ love letters to the light ]

Countdown To Classic

A World of Warcraft: Classic Podcast & Community

Highs n' Lows

Inform. Explore. Inspire.

The Wedding of Ken and Sarah

Coming to you August 17th, 2019 via the Wonders of the Internet!

Robert Hilles

Poet and Novelist

Bruised Rose Blossoms

Poet. Starscraper. Song whisperer. Niño de las estrellas.

Pointless Overthinking

Understanding ourselves and the world we live in.



Writings of Aakriti Kuntal

Clandestine tales cling to these forlorn ankles.

A Reading Writer

I write because I read. I read because I write.

The Bullet <3 Winston Smith

Music to burn Rome to

Ink the Lavender Skies

A place for the poetic explosions from my mind.

Rambling 'Riter

Musings of an Aspiring Poet


In form we find that which is formeless.

%d bloggers like this: