Cohen Poetry

Mollie

1st Prize places to return to Fionn

Hui

before the golden coins of the sun morphs into peach tarts, she graciously unfolds into layers of cotton petals. with her swirls painting the dining room walls of my heart, she flourishes into an angel with the singing kitchen kettle.

the creases of her palms root in the veins of a leaf, tracing back to an ethereal time, a sign of her fleeting motif, to find solace in Epicurus’s paradigm.

she never masquerades pain or pleasure, true to her metaphysical form. by evoking maps for a rose blush treasure, she always blooms for a floral storm. I hold her with care, for I am her heir.

A Cobbled Town

lost within its limbs of meandering roads, traversing between the strums of its light guitar strings, gazing curious eyes on every node. my feet wander on the stones as if they were wings.

the bumps and cracks navigate the alleys for me, knowing I am far from my native lands, away from the southern fresh seas, it was a detour unplanned.

to climb upon the cobbled steps of this ancient town again, tasting the cracks of a toasted amber, underneath the trickling of aged champagne, and without any clamber, I know I’ll find my soul bewitched under its control.

A State Of Convergence

a blue aura is deeper than celestial skies, yet lighter than every air vapor. a cerulean reminder moving clockwise that we can dance in a timeless skyscraper.

twirling til dusk and sleeping at dawn, conversing in constellations, playing with light photons till we reach our destination.

let’s forget all rue and in a state of convergence let’s wake up from the midnight dips of silence with morning drops of dew in our cups.