Tendrils of your voice
carries thick gravity
as though someone still
unsure
Hollow halls a relationship’s home,
with views to fall
and rise of violent suns
or cymbal cries the moon
orchestrations love blooming
even stretch of waking light
breakfast on our half - sleep
in our eyes newborn seeing
This is our satin
our life in each other’s niches
the crook or the fold of folded arms
kisses to speak our eyes’
pleading to never cease this
how this should warm me
console me in cream-colored reverie
Why does this swarm my muscles
now with lethargy
a year and a half’s brusque calamity
Questioning
this deflecting of gazes
and british anniversary conversations
over crumbled bed
Non-participation equals death
this sex-life remains of the day
abhorringly boring we make
days mean nothing
Although obese with little meaning
shadow’s preening
kean in starvation’s immitating this
confiding no longer
Striking while the iron’s hottest
but your voice now… this suffocation
this feels
cold.
like this touch
cold.
