Poetic Philosophy Ryder

1/12 Love

The smell of lentils and cumin and winter

drown the house. The faith for heat will be



I dream of dusty deserts and hot desserts.

I am smug. Like my tea mug with a piping bag

swirling in the cold ignorance.


June is prayed for and against. She is dominating,

sits in your lap with strong legs, asks you to massage

her fiery hair.


She comes and goes, wakes in the morning before you.

The heat of her presence stains the bed, betrays

your loving rage.


By Ryder

I am a writer, furniture designer and a musician. I enjoy synthesizing information because it helps me (and hopefully others) understand subjects in a systematic way.

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