linger lightly catacomb fingers,
adorn ash under forehead constellations
& sing heartbeats into the river always.
the soil of my under-darling
awaits me,
flesh curling, whispers like wisteria
glistering with winters
lovely dew,
like honey drips from a season's
wayward bees.
aspire towards sunlight,
the fish,
the reflection
in the portal glass,
our bodies fluttering
like two birds inside a jar...
the laurel's fragrant haunting lives
& barely lives around you
even now.
let the colour in
& lose this willingness to breathe.
my hands
may become full with feathers
on your skin
& we may rise,
loosened in our vestments
made of sky.
neptune pulls me in,
makes soft jewels
from the bones of my early years,
my entangled limbs
brighten upon your temple drum,
your oak
that sparks a music lightly,
busted beneath floorboards
made of mud,
beneath hallways
made of those distant mountains dreaming... |
Submission Name: a season’s wayward bees
