Caressed by moss strewn ivy.
Are my bones
As is the silken earth
Warmed a dawn of watermelon
Above the crespuscullar hum of malt fields
Milked a sea of white peacock
To slowly unfurl your soft fingertips
Weaving but mute olive dreams
Inside my flesh
Upon my Clove tasting neck
Within the shallow straw of a dandelions lucid exhale
Between blades of Sophia & magenta stars
Below the loom of a inked sky
Like a budding branch of willow
As the blooms in sol drenched dew
With sips of honey & raspberry leaf tea
Occupying my womb but a tiny twig of prose
&
Tender wafts of saffron breeze
To touch the rose sutured at my belly button
Like a velvet wisk against my cold mermaid skin
As your palms flutter like starry drops of jupiter along my body
From the edge of my vail
To the cotton strands at the lining of my smock-dress
With my heart frozen to your plush lips
In a tangible remnant of ramkin glassed tongues
Spilling salt upon my raw wounds
Lost in the echo of pain and grief
Though,your hands are supple
Glazing my soul with strawberries and mousse
Gifting there a bouquet of fragrent nights
On the speculum of a chiffon Cresent
Speckled & Yolked with the loss of clouds
In the spell of thunder,it's clamour,in marble texture
To fall again,even after you broke me
As dusk swells at our feet, while I pressed each toe into the floor boards to sink us further into the sacred shadow of a poisoned love
Ruined of its beauty
Perhaps to forget yesterday's heartache
As I surrender
To a jar of scarlet lollipops
By the cashew can of almond &dried apricots that rest at the coffee table
Like my book of poetry & your father's fob watch
In the illusion of false hope & raggered dexterity
Within a tentative grasp
Like a noose around my jaw
Behind the cheap comebacks & immoral harshness
The hush of crushed moons spit fire to my soul
With no sorry's
or romantic moments
Just an abyss of cut-out hearts
In the origami shapes of wingless-cranes
&
Guilty conscience
Clocking the rippling noise of last night's painful epilogues
As I push it all beneath the Turkish rug in the living room as I always do
For,like dust the particles may disperse only to find another place to fall upon
So I'll examine the sunrise from my bedroom with tears filling my emerald eyes
In the linger of the hurt
To the dampness of a moan,that pans the midnight months
Might how a kettle brews,I have a become a pot of steam and smoke
Humid & rough but also moist & empty
Now touch me and burn