fille--de--joies

[fille--de--joies]

Froth

I've tried to find their trace in the froth of days. Then roamed about the moon and got bored too soon. I crafted outer spaces set with inner stars. But no matter the places when the soul's buried in Mars.

I've tirelessly sought in aligned constellations, the weakness, the fault of my own condemnation. I hoped for a future, yet it scared them away; it quelled the rapture they've too often delayed.

I've looked for rhyme or reason in the lines of fate. I've mistaken the season and always been too late. I thought I'd climb a mountain but somehow missed the start. The chest lets out a fountain burst from an orphan heart.

And slowly I'll forget all the bruises I get for aiming way too high when I've no wings to fly.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Underrated Elation

It takes a speck of sadness to relish

a downpour of shunned joy; when days

cloaked in muteness stretch over the spring,

chrysalides' arrested developments wait for

the next memory's birth to unfurl; and yet

I lie bare on the vernal grass, drenched

with anticipation, as I summon

your hissing tongue

to lick me clean.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Oceans & Notions

Forever has expired — what a soothing ending & I bask in the lightness of tiny eternities & pocket infinities like stolen dawn kisses in sleep last stage's haze & a glorious aftersex glistening phallus, ready for a second round — oh darling, our everlastingness still has few minutes left, let's give our mingled mortalities one more shot.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Trance

To revel in your tense

urge to be sated in the present

tense; and my sweat is your in-

tense seeping from my fifth

sense when I'm but a whiff of in-

cense stuck on your pores,

mending your sores;

the entire scope of pain

that bliss can

cleanse.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Do I like it

Dark as the shade of night on your flesh. Deep bitter flavor melting against my palate. Dusky timbre of your confession murmured, Daring enough to make me a slave to your lips.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Hydration

There's always a way for collected multiseasonal rainwaters to crack the dam and burst out of our determination to die from drought; — a death presumably sublimating us into self-proclaimed continence martyrs at the altar of pure love.

There's always a way to ruin one's own cumbersome stoicism. —— Deliverance

is one drop of thirsting slaver away.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Extirpation

Let me help you

with ripping out the last roots.

I know it's not only for the allergy

to its blossoms. I know it's not just a

spring thing; a tree that's too shady in

summer, too flaming amber in November

yet persistently leafy in winter, who wants

a plant like this in their heart's backyard?

Let me lend you my weeder;

dull hands that'll duly wrench

those stubborn pulsing arteries.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

In the garden of friendships, a warm welcome is the sunshine that nourishes the roots of connection; thank you for your light

In the garden of forsaken poetry, unforeseen blossoms are the promise of juicy omen & succulent fruition; thank you for always coming back

[fille--de--joies]

Weathered

It's raining today and it feels

like April is crying - maybe

this is what a sad spring

looks like. Your revolutionary

exaltation dimmed with your

regular cumulonimbus, washing out

your few-hour-old resolution

to give in to the need to

give away all that you've

given out in the right tone,

never at the right place, and lost

in reverberation.

It's rained today and it feels

like your locked face is refracted

into the whole spectrum

of rainbow.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

True Blue

"I'm a married man, I don't do these things."

He said, as I put my hand on his bulge.

"Oh look, a squirrel!" I said "it sings!"

As I freed the bird aching to indulge.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Botany

You're a hibiscus stamen,

And I'm a greedy little bee.

Dear Lord, help me - amen;

For I'm so buzzy loving thee.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Elusion

You warp a symbol,

You run from yourself,

And you eventually tumble—

To vows slipt from your shelf.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Feline

It's got in its meow

The majesty of its fur,

When it darts somehow

Towards my lap with a purr.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Wasted

There are days like this, where

everything crumbles around you

(un)knowing why, and you try

to stand tall, which doesn't

always work, but you

force yourself, you recount your age,

you miss someone with no flesh or face,

you ask them - why don't you hurry up?

while there's still life, why don't you

hurry up? we'll soon have time

for nothing, and we're

already late.

Some things are not

written in poems, like -

waiting is love

that you waste.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Reshaped

How much do you need to thin a heart down

so that it fits inside a tiny box?

And if it regrows therein

would the box shatter

like a galaxy's birth or

would the heart conform

to the shape of the box: a nice cubic heart

that you could roll as dice to pick

-in the most fortuitous way-

the most tortuous path

to the same dead end.

There is art in corrosive

sophistication. Fortunately,

I am uninspired enough to trust

only shortcuts.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Tributes

I declare open the ceremony in tribute to desertion.

On the territories of foam and the fortresses of salt, I name you ambulant king carrying his subjects among stripped daisies, crumpled dresses, and mussles, stranded on the shore at low tide memory, yet still teeming with life inside their deaf shells.

I declare open the ceremony in tribute to oblivion.

In the name of ink, erasure, and the lineage of our secrets, I confess retaining, in the crease of a reverie, the fingerprint of an insanity.

I declare open the ceremony in tribute to erosion.

Waves flood your smile; the lighthouse that once illuminated the walls of the shack where stars hide to fade away. Tiredness, lewd and alluring, hums hymns of ether; and, lulled in its womb, joy closes her eyelids on our mirrors.

✒️ F. J.

[fille--de--joies]

Our Seasons

I don't care what time of the year you are,

my estival pretexts were

all meant to undress you; —— now

put that pomegranate seed ring on my finger

& purr your deciduous vows into my mouth,

for I can only hear when you speak carmine

& your sunset hues dye my winter strands.

We're the vernal folly of the fall.

✒️ F. J.