Author Archives: terpsichorean

About terpsichorean

Stephanie Ambroise is a nomadic writer, a rolling stone, collecting moss from all over to add to the beautiful tapestry of art that is her soul. Her poetry is a collection of all of the places she's been and all of the places she dreams to go. Finally summoning up the courage to tell her story, and being met with positive remarks and encourage, she's ready to shine and let her story stand right next to her, instead of hiding behind her.

2 until the end of days (And if it starts)

The waters that rush with my blood vessels through my veins would turn to wine, and like a messiah, i’d invite the world to drink from me in celebration because what’s being tapped when the eyes that fill you with … Continue reading

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1 until the end of days

can i rip a kiss from time, time, “time”? it’s 3:49 am and my consciousness is wrapped in the under-saturated technicolor of dreams, my legs wrapped in your sheets, labia wrapped by your lips, i breath in time, time, time … Continue reading

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“Catch-22”

what do you take for the calcification of desire, what pushes out the aortic stone, sometimes caught in the left chamber, sometimes the throat? i take a tincture dropper filled with the memory of my latest favorite album, the taste … Continue reading

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Shore

The shore is self-realized, every minute mineral owned by itself and the others, and meets but does not need the ocean, although passersby see them exist as one, like the sky and that cloud which hangs like bated breath in … Continue reading

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i dont (episode 4: a breakout series)

i don’t remember the last time i remembered myself, caught the lobe of my ear dangling off a ray of the star, Sirius, loud and self-embracing me, i’m tired of the pick apart put together caused by self-explosion and the … Continue reading

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i don’t (episode 3: a breakout series)

i don’t have the will to wake some days, to rent another breath that compounds this loan when I already don’t make enough joy (i know my right eye twinkles with three less rays than that passerby) now, I’ve had … Continue reading

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i don’t (episode 2: a breakout series)

i don’t take risks anymore, i don’t sink my hands into the welcoming grit of moistened ground, i hope to be stopped by gold at my feet, afraid of dirty though my face is read, and my veins have blown, … Continue reading

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