A sweet puddle

A thin orange layered smoke of love strangles me

speaking your hands of love,

the arteries of amorous light.

Perspiration, Condensation

It shakes my head and puffs my hands

like a soft blow, a pigeon of my dream.

Dropping ink red kisses, purple waves

hushing me with blue’s of my words

and a strange noise, wrapped like a grey conch

or a sapphire on my wild tongue.

Give me a basket and I shall show you

inundate tales of pain, love, pain

inhibited in the black’s of my locks

indelible, water ripples.

touch and gone, a father’s pride

I shall show you

the wasted twists and memorable turns

my body sweats and sugar dissolves.

I feel the dust soaking my moisture

screeching, soiled pages of my old books

with the openings of nights and lilies, I breathe

and I breathe and I breathe. I try.


Published by

my valiant soul

A dreamer and a believer for the upliftment of women rights. A published poet, author, writer. Believes in dancing and cooking amazing food for hungry souls at times. Loves to write and write till the moon is satisfied. My writings can be found at Visual Verse, Indian Periodical, Sick Lit mag, Duane's Poetree, Thistle magazine, among various others. Curator of Olive Skins.

38 thoughts on “A sweet puddle”

  1. I pick up my phone, see there is a new piece by valiant one. I already know I will be sitting before it ends.
    I will be allured, will be enticed, will feel the need to comment, hit send
    To thank you for a moment to enjoy,
    You never fail

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Smoke as Loves hands
    slipping through fingers and soft necks nurture
    puffed hands were water weight
    as wings took off from ponds still waters winked at honeysuckles

    lips staining my soul red from the inkwell
    beating me multicolor bruised
    brash and alluring nylon kicked in the air
    the coral caught us all off guarded gates to the throne room

    as the oceans coo wrapped us in it’s sails
    this big bad wolf held the basket so inept yet watchful
    she tasted like the glass shaker in the cupboard
    each grain was a gift from the gods

    we imbibed with a thirst unrivaled
    unravel me at the seems sewn
    triming candle wicks,so wanted
    parchment never felt so pure
    beneath undeserving fingertips

    palms pressed against palms
    the fresh fragrant grass called us to lay down
    while crickets chripped in the chilly greens dew
    the glory of this morning came all too soon


    i Loved every inch of your poem, i find most all of your work inspiring and refreshing.it’s like a free fall with no guarentee of being caught in the most dangerous game of trust falls.

    keep’em coming valiant.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Oh my!

      This is overwhelming. Your words are striking as well as full of intensity. “She tasted like the glass shaker”..this is beyond my praises.
      I genuinely appreciate your time in curating such a phenomenal verse. Loved it truly!

      Thank you for sharing your work. It means so much.

      Liked by 1 person

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