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Lexi Lefevreさんのイラストまとめ


Canadian writer/literary editor/blogger/vegetarian. In my free ti—Ooh, maple syrup! *ahem* I write YA, SF&F, Contemporary, poetry, Horror. 안녕하세요 💙💛🌻
ko-fi.com/writerlexilefe…

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But what is closure when all is a brumous garden of homesick trains? When whispers are broken kisses where karma sleeps in starry betweens? It supposedly stood before us like smoke on night's horizon: dear mum in nocturnal dress—evil's villainess with terrified shanks. https://t.co/bTP5Tk99Oo

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There goes a madcap frolic in our misplaced lucky stars, lulling tidal fables with Cinderella's ashen suns. A dream-walking kiss amongst sirens' bones is enough to imbue us with night's amber peppering beneath work's dying skies, but for how long on this vine?

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The weekly writers campfire is on at 8PM ET today! It will be private until further notice, so it'll require invites. Sorry to shyer or busier potential friends who wanted to join. Feel free to DM me any questions about it and we'll see about adding you to the chat!

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A deep love lays pocketed in my skin, tracing melodies from last summer when whistling trees climbed their breeze up our cheeks & wrapped your name & mine around each other's stardust. I've a sympathy for rain's exquisite blues—for how it chokes on evermores.

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Passionate sunshine blooms over the trees, making stars between the leaves. Our voices go where their poetry moves in timeless growth, catching orchid dreams as webs weep a potion for shadows in our ribcages. Home in the distance. Roses broken on our lips.

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Honeysuckle whispers came from room 13, tightening on my ears like jumars with each passing hotel patron. They came in reality's gloaming & rose vernal to midnight perceptions, making old paths seem grim with sanguine love songs.
"They're just people."

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A gentleness lays in the poet's undergrowth. It sings w/daffodils & waters our flesh w/ camellias. I breathe the birdsong from words they provide, & in the business of discombobulated purpose among life's flickering bulbs, all twines whole & safe again.

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The flayed had stalked well into noctiflorous vanities, caressing mirrors like their lost faces would be coaxed into coming back. They burned lambent for a time, flooding timid, dying kisses with defensive seals. We watch them muse in beastly cloaks.

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The sun teases the vixen tones in my once believed midnight hair. It curtains my face like a babydoll dress, and I watch your stare through eyes no more distant than summer's lasting, bittersweet yawns. You are riddled with poetry—a taste forever lingering.

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I keep forgetting to post about the writers campfire earlier! 😂 It will be live today at 8PM ET! Please, no nasty drama, politics, or sports talk. Bring snacks, water, coffee, fun conversation, and spookies! It's a casual chat, so there's no pressure to read your work. 🍰

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