In the realm of you, my dappled sky is moonless, fringed with fire
and deep-seated in platitude– the clouds that promise rain are pensively deep, equipping me
with the clarity I need, and I wonder if your crystal clues of truth are identical– I am core shaken, captivated and at sixes and sevens, my glitter-stained tangled roots disappearing into a twisted earthen forest pathway, where a canary whispers your name— soft and easy.
In my mind, the sense of you is something behind a tinted window, part apparition, part firelight you just might be the safest, most dangerous thing
I have ever done– your eyes filled with oceans crashing,
tracing poetry along corner of lips where words are left
unspoken– I feel myself drawn to sweet gravitational pull, with solitude circling my ankles. No cages. I cannot imagine … a more exquisite imprisonment.
This flesh is mine, it has bled, and shed remnants of lies saccharine– under a sky surrounded by convalescing breath, the world I see before me is made of shadows with teeth, as my heart attempts to piece together what stones have buried– the tree bark howling out the tales you have told. I walk down a trialed path while insides burn, as roses black break out from a blinding daze– with Jupiter in a bottle and eternity of stars raging in my soul.
Night was elongation of berry-red urge and desire, carrying your words like wisps of clouds– I watch as they mouth your name and paint every emotion that has ever erupted within me in raisin black. I have been halved and cored,
held on to every thought as you kiss my lips
while they retort– my torment is one of freckles upon blood oranges, their vital force
pulled apart so that cloying would last; would last.
I stand surrounded by mist of a bygone period, the dark ocean illuminating clouds of deepest charcoal– could the impossible ensue so as to strip me of thoughts, twisting and turning attempting to drown me with their whispers low and false– amidst the chaos there shines a brilliant ray of hope from the lighthouse of the Pharos, and though its vociferation is diffused there is something about that place that ushers
a gush of strength inside of me,
rimmed with a lambent pandemonium of magenta dreams– carried by the wind, I sleep laden with promises of tomorrow on my pillow.
The wind perhaps is most perceptible when we speak of change, blowing empty thoughts to keep my glass refilled– somewhere, someone’s heart beating for me, cares. And when I sense you must be there, my pulse quickens– I would’ve followed a prettier road but that would’ve left no chance of meeting you, trickling slowly down the shaft of an incense candle is indecision, or what’s left of it really I would’ve clung to familiar things had the prospect of appearing false not occurred to me. Ah, what then broke through? What once was sewn with a needle– Perhaps my lips have always hungered for the taste of danger, of metamorphosis delicately coating my tongue, you know I do, don’t you?