http://slow.writerscafe.org/Safrina The original writings of author Safrina en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775986592 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 When Amy died, I remember peopleTalked a lot about how life Is best lived. People spoke about Amy's hands: How, often, men did not touch themTo touch her.  Indeed, it was the case that most menWere only reaching for another. When Amy was low.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/1254274/ 1.Your hair partslike the grass on a wet day.2.I have not seenyour hair part in a while.3.The bird bathdances under the snow4.And the rubbish sways,too5.How can Isway?6.Your hair parts like the sea. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/784118/ Your hands, as they are. The Romans,communists, the bottled flieshovering over water ridden Africa; yourhands in many metaphors. Your handswaving at me when love happens. Likeopening the bathroomwindow, likethefront door of your fingers lickingeach tiny seed, your handsturning blonder and blonder. Y.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/779880/ And to start, sorry. Sorry for sitting down as youtook the fist from my mouth. Sorry forGod playing the piano duringyour first dinner party; His fingers lemon wedges, no umbrella for the damper. So sorry- the funeralshoes; untamed, the handful of stars,the overcooked babies. I knowhow true.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/763896/ Reasons you will not write a love poem to me;The dying cat holdingthe chandlier reminds youof my ovaries. The way I whisper'lovely, tiger' pressingmy face to your chest.I dangle my IUDin front of the TV; my sexuality isa horse. I tie your hands to my metaphors-for you. You won't write to me becausee.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/728998/ My mother does not enjoy kissing pictures. How, oh, very sad, Very primitive. The sound of her'rock me' face. She told menot to open her chest when she is dead: You willfind a train sized heart., they are your bones, and indeed I saw the tiny liver, a furiousapple. The dying wordsof Mendeleev are in.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/690534/ I think it's quite normal to strokethe hands of the weeping ladies. Because we live in  worldwhere laughter is a hat. I have not been writing,I have been stroking the hand's of other women and she shrieks. I have spoke to Franz Kafka and he knows i am pregnant- each single leaf turning silver. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/675853/ I have often wonderedwhat has happened to the depth of my heart. I know what itis, Catherine Tate is on BBC News.The slight slurof this universe makes me  call your phone, like thewolf hiding in my loaf of bread. The lady on the other end sings B*****D to me. Her hair is a cloud and it saysI WA.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/662083/ http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/652801/ The truth is, my husband has sad blisters;a whole Earth's crust. I used to thinkof my life as a armchair or Venn diagram, I'd seeWilfred Owen in my dog's face. The truth is, I really really like love. The littleblasting moments, a galaxy on my back. The truth is, I have killed a lot of people. Sam, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/646844/ The clouded mind is Kant without his hair extensions, his eyelash curler. We met last night and he was like Christmas, a m**********r. Sad,a tree.Kant told me to be a bad mother f****r. Toss my arms in the oven,think of the world as a big wound.Kant is Japanese and has a cremated heart. He asks if I.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/633557/ No one wants to hear about my IUD. My beauty has a slow filament, its nest,because no one wants to hear about the metaphor for your tits on the backs of snails. No one wants to know you wrote a love letter and attached it to your sex appeal.And, no one wants to know that i have a horse in my throat... http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/633151/ Obama started to write love letters, his mouth is a seed, and women generally are bees. He lays down metaphors like guns on each side of his hips, holds me, and I wonder if love falls like leaves, orbits as my hips, the moment in which you realise: love happens.You are holding a license and it taste.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/627013/ Stand howling and write love letters to your uterus,  I want to tell you, autumn has a lot of wounds and i want to tell my hair to not open as a purse. Press your back and fall onto your heart backwards. Open like a purse. You open like a purse. And sometimes, your neck reaching onto the minnow.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/619358/ But what about us, the universe? I dip my body in pajama bottoms. And that's how women are-  sewing drums to their feet. This is hypothetical, but what about us, the universe? and my breasts want to be transformed; and apstrophes are a bird's beak. The universe sends me a letter and it says I A.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/617336/ I might aswell turn into a cloud. I am touched in somewhere called water, and my husband calls this my beauty. He says things like these are found in a newspaper, though i still sound of raven and soft skeletons.You are beautiful but not a verticle arm across my chest, an ugly dog eating a tree. for.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/610188/ I would always be a poet. My mother knew this because i was car park splendour. I made her hair from a metaphor for the sea. I knew i was a poet, grass fell from the shelf inside of me. I was aged 5 and i knew, i was a poet. And it was easy, holding a shoulder's bone, and it something as easy as God.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/610187/ Why did my hair burn, foreign flower? And the starving artist in my kitchen tells me, i know what you mean, when you says "banana shaped heart", you mean rind, holding your head in a drivers licence.He was thinking of dissipating, holding on to my sternum, something ocean sized. I tell him i am thin.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/600974/ My kitchen grew thorns and i take down the bird feeder. My legs are stumps and i take down the christmas tree. And it's something like that, the things you wanted. It's not as easy as the rhino holding up my bed, something like that. It's not as easy as removing the pine off of your face, eating it .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/597765/ This morning I am a snip of cocaine, this morning I clothed our hearts to one and placed us on the washing line. You knew me, as a crouching tiger. This morning a dry seed licked my arm, told me it is winter  & in the morning, we talk of systems and flowers and frollickings under the blanke.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/593045/ There is a fight in our living room. Its okay to be covered in rain, and it's okay to count the bones on our christmas tree. There is a fight in our living room and its between you and me. Maybe you're thinking how to stuff my mouth with leaves, to stop the crying. Maybe you are thinking how sexy th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/591773/ one of my strongest pieces according to john http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/585811/ Perhaps i am the lucky one. The one who retells the story of ferdinand, my hair a wet petal on the floor. It's all here, and, who needs life when there is a fish lying on my sofa telling me how to laugh? Who is the one with my heart in a mouth?Perhaps, i am quite lucky to be watching you bend the se.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/584805/ picture by a lovely ornery gentleman ;) http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/581850/ I miss my heart. & often the bird bath with no water.As if my heart was not the shrivelled leafin the centre of our bed. As if my heart was a pebble.As if, as ifI miss my heart, the hunk of flesh. I pulled from & often hollow. Often finding yourselfslipping inside silk trees.I miss my heart .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/576702/ & I have spent 5 years pinning the heart's ears back. Maybe, i can slip  letters between your teeth.or maybe there are no flowers in the kitchen sink. Maybe, maybe, i am crazy & the table is not calling me , nor is, spending5 years listing the names of our bearsfilling the apple core of.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/575719/ 1. Ways to find me,someone elses spine. Darling darling, when are you coming to find me?Oh, so the cherry on the palm of your hand- maybe a lie. 2.The roots growing in a smile, oh, you touching me free. Poor girl, oh, the dancing on your smile. Dreamy head poor girl. 3. Where are you? The crease in .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/573249/ picture by my man, isnt he talented as f**k? http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/568407/ You say ovaries as I, here am i, holding the branches. Cupping the moon in your cheeks, bunches bunches, hunches of your smile. "Ovaries". Touching the spine, licking the soap. It is here, I, break the tiles.You speak it, in the tea, dropping over my knees. It's the swirls of sylabelles, the way you.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/566492/ ps. the picture is mine took on a poundland disposable. win. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/563303/ Yes, i always knew. Weeping into the moon on your shoulder, would only leave me dust. The apple hanging on your throat, it was not mine.The apple on the kitchen table, not mine.The apple hanging from silver thread, not mine.Someone elses wings, also not mine. I always knew, resting my head on 7am an.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/562485/ Is it the butterflies? I still don't mind, the way your minscule mind is hiding behind my ear. You are stroking my hair. I do not mind, sunshine, the way the fibres press my chest and i say hello, because sometimes the light whispers your name, colloquialism , it's all sunshine. I tell you, i do not.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/559693/ Somehow now, in sublime coloursof someone elses cracks ofteeth, crackthe roots, of somehow- somehow soft talk is a centred sweet, rooted, sweet sweet talk is the somehow thread. Not mine, knitted, somehowin someone elses shirt. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/556896/ & method, counting the stars; sleeping alot. I am the soft bread of your breasts, tea, tea, This is method of a hollow head, and counting, the ways i can mutterthe trees leaves, over your lips, how i can spit spider legsall over the roof of your eyes.How, how how method is not the teeth across t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/553103/ i am taking a bath and i am now, madonna. i am taking you to my bath and letting the flags of yours arms, drench over me. you wish you are water and soap and you wish you are, not the scissors pressing thestone of my teeth,cutting the fibres so, and soand not the flash killing me, so  and so. b.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/549255/ he told me, to find myselfalong the fleet of skin, seeds, hairas weeds, soft skeletonsare one to dance, always poolside.and they told me, they always tell me not to search seabut eat home grown lipsinstead of amiable meat. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/545800/ Romance city city,I gave you upon blanketsand sea bed lipsI gave you I gave youthe moths lighting me,romance city cityyour eyes are still,shining,and mama says"oh romance city- a slap on the arm,bed the blue butterflies; it always fluttersfor people like you and me" http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/542295/ there is a couple kissing and i hope its us,i hope it's usbecause she wears roses in her hairand her children, her childrenall owna wide combed smilethat fits in the soil of your mouthand it worries me. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/540750/ & i am sitting at the back of libraries with lizard boys. his head is assembled on book spines and i tell him,i tell him"soap is a disposable delight"lizard boy has chlorophyll eyesi pull you from the teeth of the shore,seaweedand this crunchesas grass, and lizard boy is clinging to walls. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/537398/ no capitals again, couldn't be arsed. i typed this all out then lost it, so this is from memory. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/536219/ f**k capital letters and real grammer. f**k meaning on this. f**k the cleaning for today. f**k your stupid 'genres' and you know what? F**K YOUR F*****G AUDIENCE. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/535317/ Let the syllables of my hair,make your teeth crack. Clap,clap, your teeth areleft on my chest andI am watering the cavity. To rose petalson the end of my tongue, and a foreignfeather dancing in dirt. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/535109/ syvery wrong, mr dangerwas right-"teeth are bees, birds,bees", always fillinga mug of cavityand mr danger,i am sticky and sappysticking in the sheets of summer heat. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/534881/ You will find me, catching butterfliesalong the vines of washing lines.Draining the silver words from your eyes and oh your words are breaking the bones of the feathery aligning my mindand finally, finally germinating the wet leavesthat used to be you and I. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/532445/ I am, oh, stuffing youof pregnancy anddark pebbledinfertilityof new meat, liningthe thighs,fresh hands-delightdelight, it scurriesthrough and throughand oh you, I amstuffing you. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/528332/ you told me, I for I, am a light headed prosthetic delight, leggy, no not right"did you, did you do your half seven smile?"and now your lips, they hang, inside thickening fleshof accumulationof golden cell,of a knock knock im home honeyand im robbing you of day time tvfor cups of tea and the hospita.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/526621/ 5.30. Bathroom floor,blankets blankets blankets"your arms are floating out the door",oh sweetie sweetie sweetietheres this boy i lick,on tuesdays, hug like roses,rip like umbilical cords,i toss you out the doorand us, lying on the floor.pure pure pure,sea breeze kissesare like cricketsand it's falli.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/524458/ The picture is a Diane Arbus picture. Damn i love that lady. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/519794/ I, sad, sewnseeds in your strawberry jam heartand chuck wateron your fingerfinger fingers.and i'm weatheringyour tears into leather and bringingleech leech leeches. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/517266/ i'm burning. title has no link blah blah you should know by now haha http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/Safrina/513576/