The Show Tell Project

For Seymour's Fat Lady

Tag: love

With the Princess

by fyarlgiles

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after the war

I buried my eyes

-in the stones

-in the sky

where her blue body lies

They draped her in petals

as white as the moon

to soften the sins

that

leak–

—from her wounds

—-

her secrets

 smell pinkish

like strawberry wine

but

I see

the foul rot

that will

cloak her

in time

With the Princess by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

The Last night.

by fyarlgiles

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When she vanished

-for the first time-

-for the last time-

I  could not help but swallow a chalky lump

of relief.

And I’m not sure how it happened but

now I am

 engulfed in a

soapy rose–

that dribbles

into my mouth

in  spindly Ribbons.

It burrows in my ears

and toes

 in rumpled gobs that whisper

and whoop

until

 there is a

A fog inside

that I cannot

undream

“Lady in Waiting” by Angie Hoover Hillhouse

Artwork: Lost in the World by Filmout

Thought Through

by meaghanmerrifield

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eyes illuminate

below the calculated flicks of elongated lashes

bold brows raise sharply

in a delicate distraction

 as fragile fingers begin

to put into play

plans half-thought through

“Thought Through” by Meaghan Merrifield

On the Side of the Road

by fyarlgiles

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yesterday, on the car ride home,

I had to pull over and

imagine you

slipping your slight fingers

under my shirt and over my fluttering heart-

I let my eyes roll inwards

and back

 to that blinking

 jungle of cobweb confusion

that blossoms

in your body

between sleep and sight.

Where everything flashes

then falls

loose

and limp.

“I had to” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Wildwood by Elle Hanley

On Your Merry-go-round

by fyarlgiles

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I see that it is me

I am running after.

soft, bowed legs

flat, smacking feet

and a lung inflated by the the pinching mist

of your marigold perfume.

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I live in

circles within circles in  a Nowhereland–

but

 as long as the haze of your touch

tingles

in my chest,

I am happy to spin

like a carousel horse

with a pole

through

its

spine.

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“Spun” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: A Delicate Balance by Morgan Kendall

An Actor and Love

by fyarlgiles

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Perhaps an actor should expect to fall in love.

Because, in a sense, it is part of the job description.

In a way, an actor could say,

“I audition, I network, I memorize lines, and I fall in love.”

We sat down, across from each other – the lights almost blinding. But within them, my eyes found one thing and comfortably focused on another pair of eyes, which blinked me into focus as I did him. They were brown eyes. When our eyes had adjusted, and all we could see was each other, there was something we then had to deal with, which neither of us had foreseen.

“I love you.”

When an actor says it, they have to mean it.

They have to feel it, or you can tell.

You watch a movie and you think,

“This fucking sucks.”

There’s no time for it.

Art that does not come from some manner of truth

Is self-indulgent without being rewarding.

(I don’t want to forget this feeling. When time stopped and all there was… was he and I. In real life he is married and I am living with my boyfriend, and this man and I know nothing about each other.

But an actor’s life is blurred with fantasy, blessed with passion, and cursed with un-satisfiable desire.

I knew that in this room, under these lights, this time set aside for us to act, I knew that I was safe and I was free to experience him. I these

eternal/too-brief

moments, I lamented and he lamented that he married too soon. A mistake had been made, because there was a magic here, a knowledge that came from somewhere else. And desire.)

DESIRE.

.

I allowed myself to enjoy it for a few hours.

But

Like

All

Love,

And

All

Things,

I know it is fleeting.

“An Actor and Love” by Vanessa Cate

Artwork: Drugi by Vesna Pesic

True Seeing

by fyarlgiles

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the curtain that I peer through is Ivory

not white-

 so when your legs tremble

in your back’s lonely slouch,

I see in them

the earthiness of light brown. And you are

  a little biege feather

quivering in anticipation of the morning breeze.

And this

and this

 is more soothing

than the truth.

“Through the Window” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: The Velvet Darkness of his Mind by Morgan Kendall

Perhaps

by fyarlgiles


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Would I have control over you

even if I could?

For perhaps, it is your challenge that poses me

in red robes

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And makes me stare in such a smoldering,

calculating

manner.

“Untitled” by Vanessa Cate 

Artwork: Severe Art by Ruben Ireland & Ddm by Hugo Barros

I Wish We Were Closer

by fyarlgiles

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In my dream, you were naked–

I think.

–Your breasts and lips were drenched

in the scent of me and

I was

all over you.

At first it made you feel yellow

and new-

like a champagne flower

bubbling in the sunshine

— and then you were angry at me

for reflecting all the mean holes

in your prettyheart

“Prettyheart” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Flora & Fauna by Jenn Mann

Resist Energy: Lust

by fyarlgiles

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that touch of yours is as 

dangerous as

I’d expected.

— timid hands begging to be held,

stroked,

loved

in a lightless room where

no one

can hear our thoughts and

my weakness is concealed.

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And I know that when I do

press your gentle palm  against my own  for the first time

I will feel too much to think at all.

about infidelity-

about identity-

about selfishness–

and I will have to swallow

that dripping desire

that I try to

ignore

“Restraint” by Angie Hoover-Hillhouse

Artwork: Self-reflection by Jenn Mann & Flux by Sarah Cannon