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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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I once had ocelot spots in my hair and a motley of sass you'd never find for sale in those memories that jump from warm to glacier at lightning whisper. Browns now storm my strands, but there is still a fire to cloud your tongue in rebirths fought for and won.

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I've an infinite love for the emerald disco in your auroral eyes. They freckle the coffee that steals unanchored rapture from stirrings beyond senses' lines. My soul grows here where breath is always renewed. Its marrow thumbs the knowledge wrapped argent in you.

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You read me well when the air travels misty like flesh unsettled in winter. It breathes in an ideal, slow wickedness that obscures our moonlit due, reality a gossamer bang when seemingly dark ever afters go into mornings crisp as our uncommonly few.

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Whimsical blights dolloped his newsboy cap from midday runs through the park: pigeon poop vivid as eggs sunny-side. He was a tank of a man—shoulders too wide to edge silence & feet too large to whisper at night, but with hands to halo his little angel's head.

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We are lovely freaks,
Arriving on storm-chasing echoes,
Myopic, the lament creaks,
In corridors of silhouetted hellos.

Can you hear it?
Silence in heart's moonlit meek?
Snake oil in mystical ingots,
Of sand when I had you weak.

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You're a dose of always in a world of maybes & nevers. Softly marked in somedays, my cold skin has shed its haunted addiction to the decaying. It remembers its malleable youth in watercolour & effulgent galaxies. A precursor to better vision, my every breathes.

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They cast their acatalepsy into the auroras & watched as all spilled into beloved rivers. Not a curse loomed in melancholic whispers that led gossamer orchestras to their last ceremonies. No disgust laid disguise over heroics where gardens grew from torsos.

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We hid under Mama's crepuscular words & their tarot cards, gathering every whimsical dreary we could. It was a noxious gathering—all bubbled eyes upon a massive silence. Persuasion had powered us vivacious, & we knew not to snickersnee with its hedges. 1

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Antecedent times had blown past his open door, cackling on their way to houses untoward. 'Twas quiet as a poison garden upon the tip of rosy funerals, but for his pen that scrawled dreams dark and taut with potential. "Teach me?" he asked the demons.

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We die w/ a brandy sky on each winter solstice, lost among worn stars & yesteryear's faded poisons. It is then that Nature's kindling twirls her harp as old friends do, offering dancing shoes shiny as tinsel for Christmas & its honeyed ague. A morning shared anew.

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