Expanding again on the magnetic poetry oracle…
Need is hard

(to give in to

that craving for connection)

‘Not yet,’ I said (to Time,

teasing along twitching ties),

‘Drink me not, dark angel’

(we are light still and far from brewed).

Joy is a dance

of liquid rhythm

(lithe are we, fluid forms falling into arms

not always favoring hold),

hearts bleed when opened

(steel we are not, though hard are we

to mould into mutual).

‘Make us a secret

though our embrace is concrete

so maybe we (can) linger longer,

(let’s drink ourselves slowly,

regardless of how time ticks roughly).


All words by Damien B. Donnelly


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