Linnet Phoenix is a poet who lives in North Somerset, England. She has been writing poetry for years. Her work has previously been published in Impspired, Punk Noir Magazine, Raven Cage Zine and Open Skies Quarterly. She also enjoys horse-riding.
I listen to the night breeze for it tells tales of you. Whispering sweet words so low I cannot hear which fae story is told. I place favour on paper. Black ink that sinks soft in grains. A perfume lingers. Cursive kisses blown, fingertip touches the void feeling hair tendrils with soft twist, a wistful smile of darkened eyes. The morning sun may lie swathed in night clouds as the blackbird sings a song of days evermore.
Evergreen it holds leaves fast as winter winds tear and rip, heart shaped shaking, waiting for spring warmth. This thing evolves, transcends magnolia blush buds of lust past, blooms of compassion violet. This bruise of beauty rooted deep inside.
Tonight is for you. You of the honey sweetened sipping whiskey tone. Who owns Southern in ways I could never be born. The crickets are performing a serenade in your honour. Wind chimes playing percussion while pets and possum pine. I would raise my glass to you but I am laid sick inside. I would offer my heart, bruised, battered, but running. I would share its secrets, let your blood wash away pain. Feel the pure love pumping a smooth steam-train powered. If we could sit on your porch drinking iced tea with lemon with peach juice dripping off chins you could chide me for never finishing what we began. But you would hug hard, laugh like tomorrow was certain, telling me that love will come.