“sleeves”

you lost your wrists
to hosts, twisting
rivers idly speaking
the thoughts you sought
to leave behind.

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“Mapped”

I dragged my hand down murky coastlines
searching for where the storms had fallen
long ago and marked the skin of people
like yourself, where the scraped scars
hang themselves from shoulder blades.

“And it Roars”

Midnight mental meanderings,
scribble-scorched papers,
bed sheets bloodied by ink and words
and thoughts and feelings, felt
and unfelt, uncertain assertions
tumbling through possible pathways
previously hidden –
sweet permissible nothingness,
welcome black, void-edge twirling
spinning, failing, flying nothing-anxieties
with broken backs, scars bursting
into being, pockmarks
marking palmprints with curling
spiraled roots searching for water,
love and life – life and love,
inkwells running dry of familiar
worlds and words and whereabouts,
nothingness, voids, oblivion, black,
sweetness bitter burning, understanding
scratches the front of your cortex,
potential enlightening, understanding,
it all bristles at your coming, but
fades when you reach for it,
fingertips and fog, a desert swallows
a drop of water, a bead of sweat,
a ball of insubstantial everything
growing in the centre of your forehead,
taking all the space of your thoughts
and none of it,
subsuming you, breathing you,
breaking you, walls of loss
and life and love and loss rising
infront, behind, before, afterwords,
intent is lost, it was never
found or had or loved or
lost or lived or loved, or loved
or loved

“Fingertip Tapped”

I tapped you with a fingertip –
ink burned
up through my veins,
following village maps
historical genealogies
and scar tissue,
settling at my shoulders
bursting with black blooms,
petals fell down my spine
composting nerves and muscles
building feathered stems,
slowly, brightly, blackly
bursting inky quills
stolen from aged ravens,
used to dress the faces
of the pretty ugly,
where scars burst into flowers
demanding flesh and meat
instead of sun and soil.

“Lily-Loves”

Lily-loves fall and fade
for mere remembered moments,
bursting, alighting on the night
anew with every fresh sighting,
at every intake of air,
every subtly curling smile.

We bed down in failures,
wrapped up tight in dark,
blood-burnished mud buried
slowly
arms twist and reach around
a trunk of flesh and feeling.

Greenery dips and falls down skin,
rolling waves of ivy wrap themselves
around hips and sides and necks,
curling and caressing soft scarred skin
blooming petals in furrowed ground.

It dripped
and fell, caught our light
spinning colours on walls
speckling skin with light-paint
droplets
the rain grew and grew
to fall on us
and you, soaking hair, running hands
down the temple’s walls.

“Flowers”

Your flowers follow up my skin,
unfurling petals and chlorophyll veins
running patterns across my scars.

Cut the ink out of me,
paint stems in my blood
lose loves in my margins
roll thorns down my wrists.

Bind and bleed me of words,
collect every sentence I spill:
set me to your name.