Bone black under flesh
Floating, falling
A silence that is only true in dark
Whose edges will, dissipate
In slivers of moving skin
They burned off your flesh
to get to the bone
The pure white
They kept your mother
But they stuck you back inside
In the rosy light
A rippling lustre
Seeps, into green earth
Refining the dawn
Raining speckles of gold
Sinew, down the spines
Of all that live
in the path of rose
See the vermillion
for it’s one brief brushstroke
In the red of dusk,
In the revenant distance
Dissonance,
In raspberry
Ruddy Scarlet
Sky
It must be the morning
For the face,
Faces,
For the lead-tin yellow
To be more than metal
For the bathed bodies
to have a chance to know each other
For the chair to sit in raw umber
For black, to sit in, wait,
For the bathed body
To be metal
Lead face
For to know each other
Sit in wait
For
For
Worn by your hands, my hands
Our hands.
This is my orifice
Your orifice
and I pass it through my hands
to appease my eyes
Have I poured enough out
I will not settle for less than a storm
I have never been a drizzle
I have never seen you in sunshine
I left my fingers, in the ripples of the paper
But it is not the same as stitching folds of lace
because I don’t know, if it’s pretty
My eyes
My hands
My orifice
A storm
I have never seen you.
Worn.
ripples… Settle.
I have never seen you.
Lace folds
Stitching your orifice
I have never seen you.
The lemon is sour, unchanged
Though why is, all else untouched
remain, in refusal of ruin
as the cold embrace of porcelain
begins to feel warm
she doesn’t eat
any of it
And they lie
Until time devours them, poised to poison
without looking
Because it cannot
The split one, is the first to ivory
else, touched
In refusal
In lie
Ruin as em brace
She doesn’t
She doesn’t
Poised without looking
Split to
Sour
It cannot
Remain
Is all
Any of
it
warm.
Ivory
warm.
Why?
I’ve left the window open
I’ve let the air touch your face
And the billowing curtain
is, far too elegant, and golden
as are the fruit
Nothing is ordinary
I’ve left the window open
an Orifice
And they do not see
the envelope, on the chair
and the address, I wrote for you
because it’s not
for them.
Your face
too Elegant, Golden
Nothing
I’ve left the window open
I let the air touch your face
They do not see
An orifice
34
White world
66
White world
50
White world.