Buy me a Guinness, a #tbt poem by S Francis

or maybe, I think,
a bottle of wine –
red wine.


I have always been partial
to the intoxication red wine brings.

The blood of the gods poured into the heart.
intensifies the senses,
numbs from the inside out.

we reach for Rilke’s angel.

our flight rivals the eagle’s.

When the great Gods of the ancient people
left the earth to
Adam, Eve, their sterile God and
his virgin queen,
they retreated into the dirt.
their flesh grew into vines.

We harvest their tiny hearts to
arrive one step closer to paradise

Inside our flesh the skin
of the immortals grows into armor.

We will not be defeated by these fragile
bones holding us up on earth.

We touch the angel.
We do not recoil in fear,
a surprise,
so close to perfection.

We grasp this perfect moment
in our hands and give it the wings
off the angels back.

Angel’s Honey Dust, a #tbt poem by S Francis

one feather falls
from the angel’s wing
into my open palm
I dip it in honey dust
and brush your breast
with a sweet taste
for lips discovering
softness of skin
for the first time
a new spirit
rises from
our delicious oils
one breath
ignites a womb.

We drink this delicate nectar.

We hear music of bird and bard

We rejoice the sacred bond

dancing with angels
in deep, penetrable
rhythms, richer than azure
constellations rise
from the mendacity
of earthbound life
to love wholly
this Woman
born from dust
into a renewed
dream of life
lit by chosen stars
and created
in tender union.

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019

Angel’s Metamorphosis, a #tbt poem by S Francis

the sky, today,
penetrable and deep,
I reach my hand
into its perfect blue
in search of a star
when found, its light
warms my open palm
azure drips off my arm
until a puddle floods
our spot of the earth
where we begin to play
with our new toy
above us an Angel plays.
dancing, metamorphosis.

Now she is a Carmen Miranda teddy bear

Now she is a flying saucer.

Now she is you.

sleeping naked
in my arms
my hand traces
constellations on your
satin skin
stretched, tingling
on the breast I linger
touching the nipple
reaching to the universe
part of the Woman,
loved wholly
dancing with angels
whose gentle purr say
life will renew

(C) Stephen Fuller, 2019