#poetryelixir

The wave form, flesh of white fruits

And pre-dawn rain. A taste of open water

That could down you in an inch.

Earth signs mark the southern passages.

Wheat bores from holes perceived as stars.

Asphodels. Yellow-green scents on the tongue.

Speak in triplets like pressing a flower.

Portals of blue and purple, between states,

Before the invention of time gave words to

Our distances. Something pulls at the back

Of my eye, a slip between the red horizon,

Superimposed from another place entirely.

I will tell my children the sky is the colour of pomegranates.

I will show them that the long river’s pull is like walking on the moon.

I will wash them in the slow days between then and now.

A version of me must carry it.

tasted it, consumed it, liked it.

Will you say the same about my rotten bones?

.

You dive into my eyes,

Can you see your reflection?

.

A filthy, cursed, rotten animal like me

shouldn’t be seen,

shouldn’t be touched,

shouldn’t receive affection.

But you saw beyond these things.

.

You kissed this ugly face

like you had waited for centuries,

as if it wouldn’t poison you,

even if it kills you.

.

Where am I now?

The folds on the sheets,

your hair on the bed,

our clothes on the floor.

I see your eyes, your smile.

Oh!!, I am in your arms.

Raw. Naked. Exposed.

.

Your warmth makes me drunker

than the whiskey on your breath.

Even if you bury me six feet deep,

I will crawl back to you,

so you can touch me,

make me alive again,

kill me with your hands,

and give me the death I crave.

Building a place where I won't weep. Me and my hands endure the pain. Somewhere I can call safe to sleep. Building a place where I won't weep. - A place that people die to keep- castles of sand in pouring rain. Building a place where I won't weep. Me and my hands endure the pain.

croon

and sometimes weep and sob softly but uncontrollably: then advance your

glassy cheek toward me

for that warm sea taste:

often i have thought about

seasons going haywire or vanishing altogether: so no poet could create

within you dipped in

dante's bear ink: that

twenty first century sallow still life which portrays only your hands: in

blue darkness

faultless

as i rake: tragic fragility

for mortified magnolias

laughing and over-wintering your pleasing cell organelles in genteel

herbarium

bequeathed to you by

the apparition of someone who made mounds on your body while you

slept through the dispatch:

I lost something dear to me, something irreplaceable it seems

A smile, the object of my grief

Contrary to my belief, it's something that I actually need

As if it meant nothing

A passing thought

One shot ringing

Through the dark

You crept in

Wandering endlessly

Bleeding into my veins

Holding my heart

Hostage to your pain

Taking my life

As if it’s all

You ever wanted

As if it meant nothing

one day my hands

will hold the flowers

of my mind’s garden