Cigarette
Muse
When
you wear that limp shawl, with the black background and outspoken flowers
it
reminds me of her
sitting
in yellow fabric, like a child’s swing made of greasy plastic
and
creases of metal that hold her, infested with orange rust
thick
grasses make a sickly rainbow of only yellow and green
swirling
around bare feet, dirt impeding every hardship taken
spirals
and cords of blonde hang around her face resting on creviced bones
the
shawl, with resilient threads and visibility lines
covers
only shoulders and attempts in vain to protect leathery hips
Harsh
nails balancing a deep breath for three in the afternoon
elbow
perched for flight
smoke
and heat waves meet like desert hands and swollen mouths
blurring
parallel lines and a lopsided door resemble the hem of a shirt
dotted
with black flies and cramped medicine cabinets
Ex-boyfriends,
flat tires and sunken radio dials
sold
love and salty tongues
mascara
stomped down cheeks
cigarette
muse
Leather
Controversy
Are
green souls
made
out of saying no to leather
and
writing poetry
eating
chickpeas
and
crinkly hair
Are
yellow souls
made
out of long eyelashes
and
Grapevine Fires
rejuvenating
smiles
and
controlled chaos
Wine
Stains
Years
of adolescence
mean
nothing to you
But
I can see it
in
the silky electrical wires that hang from your bones
a
corpse of cello heart beats
your
shoulder blades fold with bias
and
fine point letters from intoxication
reach
for your neck when you sigh
I
want to kiss the black moons under your eyes
and
string your wine stained fingers between mine
pursing
on words you say
rimmed
eyes of pastiche and red stretched lust
Facedown
heart
pulses down to fossils
swooning
to levels of mantle
and
.08
No comments:
Post a Comment