Your name in my mouth like a rose Velvet against the waters of my desire Your name on my finger tips A few tears and a soft kiss Your name rising like blood Red and warm, red and opaque Your name on my lips I hold a whistle and blow the vowels away
I’m left with you, I’m left with breath I’m left with mmmmm and somehow I will never get the chance to truly savor it
you want to be bigger than this mortal flesh; loved and loved by another comfortable heart to grow into and seed immortality in bloodlines
you want to be grand and say, “God has my face”; praying in temples hoping to reach a peace continually unraveled by their unwillingness
sit on a mountain and see with me sit in the water and feel with me God is not a person, not anything you can hold sit with the birds and understand to seek God is to try to make sense the birth of the first wind
fragmented pieces; ice pick, pic axe: words split and here you are yearning to fuse but where’s the fire? racing along timelines dutiful pen checking off boxes one by one
stay wilder than the wind stray far from everything- ice pick, pic axe: to your fragmented self and fill in all the crevices become one and burn with all the lightning set ablaze and one by one you become part of the god that birthed you into existence
gods who reach for the blood filled chalices aren’t gods who are they, these monstrous, hungry things? magical, fantastical a spell, and burning flame waiting for the ashes of those that have died for you to stay a little longer, to pass on as you leave to burn for those now mourning you…
gods who drink deeply from from blood filled chalices aren’t gods “aren’t you a heathen, heretic?” I’ve known them, sat at their feet and saw them feast from flesh. I waited for the whispers of a drunken fae who said, “if you feed on your own blood, you become a god” I looked at the stars and understood
what is good love? lover of the plasticine pirouettes crafted by hungry, hungry girls what is it? these sad relations have caused a tremendous wave of sentimental confusions what is good, love? lover of the intricate weavings crafted by hungry, hungry boys what is it? these yearnings have caused sleepless nights that free fall into daydreams that char my fingers, those incendiary devices waiting between lips that choose to say, ‘maybe honey, maybe’
good love can go wrong, you say? wrap me in the wave dear then tell the gods they cannot have this blood I’ll drip over volcanoes and evaporate this heart is mine only mine mine
searing into and breaking apart fleeing and running saying all the prayers reciting all the psalms dear god of the hearth, where is home?
sitting and holding waiting for the ticks and the tocks musical time frames that suffocate so I sear into and break apart thrown into the abyss but fleeing from all the demons -just shadows snaking along my own dear god of the heathens, where is home?
I threw your psalms in the fire and held my heart in my fist ate the entrails of my own monster dear god of whatever is left of me, where is home?
the time of day when the horizon is on fire I’m on fire too red is seeping into the blue, bleaching as it touches is my anger painful? I feel the coolness of January fading into the indifference of another February.
this redness is blushing, the stillness after the burning has seeped down to my core. my anger is too painful so I let it go, as the evening changes, I decide I should change too