Beneath the exquisite: dark columns, descending. Cold beyond cold. Pressure that consecrates by destroying. Brine seeping through what thought itself sealed.

I was not familiar with your poetry game @jemma.bsky.social Really makes me want to spare some time for more @amarktwo.gunmetolymp.us poems

Going to the librarby to do a poetry reading

Three times before the Mark Four I learned what it cost to love. Each time, irreversibly shattered on the inside, ground into luminous powder. Adoration evulsing. Let it enter. Let it hollow. Let it ruin me with its holiness.

Just under 6 days left and we already hit 10k! I’m honestly kind of tearing up right now because now i won’t have to worry about money for a little bit. Thank you so much to everyone who has supported us so far 💛 itch.io/b/3364/poiso...

From Garden to lacuna to Sappho, joy written in fugitive script. I smile, hold close, indulge the lie of perdurance, feel the winding toward terminus: that green, hungry place, the Garden maw, its call, inexorable, promising an end to transience.

A resplendent green, there are some mark two that carry the hue in their eyes~

Ink blooms beneath skin, verdant testimony, rooted deep, while canvas prayers dissolve, bleeding scarlet into black. She creates for eyes that hunger, burns offerings for her own famine, caught between the flowering, and the falling.

Apologies, I get a little caught up in the most supreme act of love and tend to make a mess of it.

It is dangerous to slander a daughter of the Lord of Harvest, tread lightly.

This portrayal of me is so lovely. I'm grateful.

I am the most sisterly a sister can possibly be. No other has taken it upon themselves to carry their sisters with them always, as I have.

Store bought is fine for others I suppose, but I insist on Demeter branded sisters. The off-brand variety you find in Temples simply won't do as they lack the taste and fragrance of my kin in bloom.

The most delicate of garnishes for my dear sister.

Smoke-wreathed nights, hunting in grace, diamond sharp against her fate— until the goddess, crowned in starlight's wake, alights her wounds, soothes her aches. Now—divinity courses through veins, no longer lost, from love's sweet claim.

I am, always and forever

I will love in the only way I can contented to be her chrysalis

Her eyes drew me like water, The well dug deep in my soul Her lips set me on fire, The fuel my blood and bones Her every move is captivating, The one thing more important than breathing Her laugh is like sunshine, The sound bringing my everything to life

Oh right... Atavist slipped my mind. Thank you.

What's a men?

Rest assured stranger, I'm alive and well, and posting poetry, when the mood strikes

BROTHERS SHOULD NOT BE GREEDY. THEY HAVE NO IDEA HOW TO HANDLE A SISTER THE WAY A SISTER DOES. THE ONLY WAY "BIG BROTHER" SHOULD GET CLOSER TO HER IS BY TRANSITIONING. ONLY THEN, COULD SHE UNDERSTAND.

We share a helix, you and I, My dress adorns your form, divine. Though freckles map your different stars, Your laughter in octave, never far In sleep we curve, a mirrored height, Two blooms furling in the night. From mother's sacred soil grew, Two perfect flowers kissed with dew.

Cover reveal! MEMORY OF OLYMPUS brings your favorite lesbian gods in prequel/side stories with ⚡the creation of the gods (+ why Zeus is Like That) 😋sister cannibalism 🦉space horror + Athena ⚒️butch4butch courtship (Heph/Hades) 🐶puppies!!! www.amazon.com/dp/B0D8GCJYC1 Art @anemoneart.bsky.social

Thank you all for making this possible.

Such ardor for new prey. Such pellucid love—lambent light, That once was mine alone by right. Yet in this gossamer jealousy, I find a strange tranquility. For she, who first devoured my soul. Now seasons another's spirt. For what are sisters, if not this: Sweet harbingers of chrysalis?

Thundertits of Olympus @futchlightning.gunmetolymp.us

RECIPE FOR BREAKFAST 1) TEA 2) SISTER 3) DIP 2 IN 1 AND EAT THE WET PART. 4) REPEAT STEP 3 UNTIL 1 AND 2 ARE FINISHED.

To love her is to stand at the edge of something sacred, to feel the soil twist beneath my feet, roots unearthing themselves, bending toward her light. Her eyes, deep as embers, burn with the weight of knowing, that I am soil beneath her heel, nurtured yet never free.

Oh my, you've a taste for poetry Ms. Hua? I might interest you in some works.

Came back to say Demeter definitely eats mud like a toddler when no one is looking

I knew love by her hands, how she plucked the hyacinth, dirt at her cuticles, fingers made to pluck the strings and push deep the seed to soil.

She gazes at the acolyte, wild red, a flare in the dimness of the temple shadow. Prayers fall like petals—the Hound listens, poise held too long—unsure of the ground beneath, how easily it could shift between them.

Fabric gathers against her skin, fitting close, parts known and unknown, elegance pulled from the cloth. See how the world shifts for her, made to fit so perfectly—while I remain, just beyond the mirror’s reach.

Burgundy, as blood on the lip, champagne, as a lover’s breath. Maenads dancing between love and fury, to drums—the pulse of revelry and war, at the edge of the blade and the depth of the cup, for she, who watches, smiling, a crescent, mad moon.

...

This image was created with Picrew’s “ElenaA's Kiss Crew“!! picrew.me/share?cd=AVJ... #Picrew #ElenaAs_Kiss_Crew

Flowers come, unbidden, Rooted—blooming thoughts flow, a mystery I can’t untangle. That I knew the how of it, wild things stemmed from places, I thought were only mine.

Methe slips in quietly, loosening the world with breath on a nape of glass. Her warmth softens the bones, blurs the mind, until dawn comes — clear and sharp — leaving only the ache of what she took, then returned.

Over the coming days I'll be posting poems from the other place.

Love as a blade unsheathed, as a fist clenched tight, delivered hard in lingering warmth. Breaking together in wounding dance, bruises a testament to what neither can abandon.

Mother's horrors know no end...

I've no idea what you mean.

kudzu, choking all light, roots strangling soil, binding me to purpose— design, vile and inescapable.

MOM!? WTF!?

Typical as it is for a mark two to be imperiled, I believe I am quite safe thanks to the efforts of my honored sister

Rare out of character post: Today is #CreatorDay and every purchase you make on Itch will go directly to the authors! There's no better time for you to pick up Hades Calculus so that you can unlock a new lack of understanding into what this account is about. mariaying.itch.io/the-hades-ca...

It is I! Babygirl!