i speak a story
like the inside of a violet heart.
through my two lips
the tulips flower from my gently honeyed tongue.
the blue orchid of my inside eye
taps the shoreline
like tiny earthquakes
across the smooth pebbles of your skin.
i wish to feel the palm of your love
in my island.
the sky seems to hiss in prayer
above me, in a cone.
this is where i find the grace
to feel again
what i once said must not be felt again.
i refuse to surrender,
but i'll find my edges
& work my way towards yours.
& its gargalesis
marches me down yet another artery inside me.
in it's fashion,
has a way of weeding out the weeds from the flora.
i'll keep to the tiny triggers of the wood,
the ancient moss that speaks our names
into the trees.
although the water of my body
is refusing to heal,
i still stand stark in the warmth of the sun,
shake the dust from my eyes
& stare into some new future
that happily ever after
i never planned for.
the gold of iceland
is still amongst me
& i will wait
for the drum of my feet
to give in to the badland fates.
where the earthquake of my mother's body
was my first poem.
the circle of my life
is spinning towards heavens hand
& i've found an angel
hidden in the fire of the world.
but the question remains,
will my river
lead me from my tongue
into your mouth?