Freegrandmaa

I took fractured pieces
made shapes of roses and your heavy heart

you didn’t know it was yours
as you guided my hand
sweeping up the lasting pieces of me
you knew then I was empty
a spectacle

with a vessel woven tight
you had faith in your might
that you could create
a mosaic out of my heart now

that I needed you
you believed
you could create the container for my chaos

they always do

so press me down 

as I am a cloud full of frost and rain

I am a lullaby 

velvet to touch

my pleasuring hold

I reach to be reached for 

filthy 

I am filthy 

my skin shedding the home

to molten souls 

I am a collector 

of bones and marrow

I am many people 

a proud primal walk

swollen sensitive breasts

I am heat that begs to kindle

brittle days through and through 

my opal waters cascade between
these fertile hips that sway
make way for la sensual spring
I married myself in the beginning

in the middle of it
I hold me so snug
every cell of flesh moans
every ray of the sun rises
orgasmically speaking in tongues

this is
my song

“I don’t write logically.. I write viscerally.”

Love, Lust & Lazuli
Poetry by Freegrandmaa

Hardcover and paperback are available now via Lulu.
🕯️ Signed / special editions are available directly through me.
Amazon availability is coming soon.

👉 Read more or get your copy here:
https://freegrandmaa.com/love-lust-lazuli-2/
Blessings to everyone holding my work with care.

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On Valentine’s Day, a book was born.
Not a fairytale.
Not a love manual.
Not a tidy story with a happy ending.
But something far more honest.
Love, Lust & Lazuli is a poetic triptych — three panels of the same soul moving through devotion, desire, grief, hunger, memory, and rebirth. It is the record of loving deeply enough to be changed by it.
What began years ago as survival writing has become something closer to scripture — not sacred because it is pure, but sacred because it tells the truth.
This book is for:
• the ones who love intensely
• the ones who lose and keep loving anyway
• the ones who have outgrown old selves and old stories
• the ones who feel too much and refuse to numb it
• the lovers the holiday forgot
Inside these pages, tenderness and ferocity live side by side. Desire is not sanitized. Grief is not rushed. Healing is not simplified.
Each section can stand alone like a gallery piece, yet together they form a single portrait — a body, a psyche, a heart in motion.
Language becomes spellwork.
The page becomes altar.
Memory becomes material for transformation.
This is not a book you skim.
It is a book you sit with.
Return to.
Carry.
Argue with.
Underline.
Close because it hit too close.