My flesh it curdles
Seeps out of me
As red butterflies;
Scampers of into a celestial existence
Your essence, so electric
Is the cause of my being;
Of my fervid mind to leap
Into your still eyes
Where I watch the indigo sun
Fall
Into your ivory swamp
See its colours birth
Yield to stroke;
Die.
Sometimes, I am lost
In your head.
Grabbing onto your whorls of filigree
Made of earthy fire which drape
Over your eyes like a dirge
Sung by a wanton woman
To her dead eggs;
An echo
Of your scent.
Raw with that of a newly born lamb
Whose legs so shy
They quiver, as they stand
Half erect.
Innocence
I know it only from you,
Not elsewhere.
Your touch
Sends ringlets of waves
Made of milk and blood
Through me.
I lay parallel
To your misty rays
Of hope
Of thought
Of body --
And I wonder
If you are fictitious?
Question, if you are a ploy
That my mad mother has sewn
To entertain.
You are a leopard of the night;
Inure to this musky earth.
A black tear scuttles
Then flutters as a lone
Ladybird with two Scarlett spots,
And the secret stagnant shadow
Of a third.
Tell me if I am unseen?
You frown,
I corrugate within it.
I am not sure…
That is all!
