Old poetries....
Probing through my chest like sea anemones.
Love.
It's in pain, butterfly.
Just a friend, just ancient presenttimes,
arching across my mind.
Writing these letters like scattering ants carrying broken thoughts on fragmented backs. A lost organization, lost civilization, a feigned neatness. My eyes burn and my heart is meat sitting precariously close to a grinder.
I'd like to jump into the ocean. Lay with my head resting in her palm, legs dangling off her fingertips, fetal drift, nearer to the lung to go with the flow like I'm supposed to.
Flutter in abandoned hot and wet and throbbing and pulsing and sighing and shaking, collapsing and breaking so everything is alive again.
Then you cocoon me with your shushes and your whispers like mother's hands and give me lotus lilies to stand on. Sleep, tired baby, you say, you've been stressing much too long and worry pointless worries.
Probing through my chest like sea anemones.
Love.
It's in pain, butterfly.
Just a friend, just ancient presenttimes,
arching across my mind.
Writing these letters like scattering ants carrying broken thoughts on fragmented backs. A lost organization, lost civilization, a feigned neatness. My eyes burn and my heart is meat sitting precariously close to a grinder.
I'd like to jump into the ocean. Lay with my head resting in her palm, legs dangling off her fingertips, fetal drift, nearer to the lung to go with the flow like I'm supposed to.
Flutter in abandoned hot and wet and throbbing and pulsing and sighing and shaking, collapsing and breaking so everything is alive again.
Then you cocoon me with your shushes and your whispers like mother's hands and give me lotus lilies to stand on. Sleep, tired baby, you say, you've been stressing much too long and worry pointless worries.
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