bloodborn

 

 

 

each autum night

when my prostate resembles the mosiac

of daydreams and memories,

the fragment morning sickness

and your vomit in the herb shrubs;

the moss rose glandularly old fashioned.

 

the phylotaxis of leaves stuck to

their grape stems. I would lay my face

on your belly ephedra

like a bright planet

 

knowing full well that a thing

divine will fall from your

dobby branch

kicking colors in the drift

dawn.

Reviews

[KatDarkness]

I love how this is phrased, great piece.

[writing mojo]

your nature blanketed to sky is never blunted by wordy run athletic storms..you flex your brain with the scuttled easy of catching a root before it's Iris peaks and rolls off in dead petal answers lost...you have that balance of watching life through a window and never to enveloped or involved with the change of seasons going on...great piece