The sodium street lights
Your few striped freckles
The makeshift tattoo on my palm
A couple? Never. It's always been a triple or even a single at best,
A circle of medics healing medics.
This distortion is fine
It's a revolution of entrancing revolts.
Relics ignite for every star in the ground,
Scattered upon my brain.
To my pressed, dear, deadest flowers...
You keep leaving me out!
Crystalise for me, so I can die again for you.
My precious opalite,
Your purity is a miracle.
My beloved flaked obsidian,
Your impurity is a fiasco.
Both are much to be worshipped.
But now what am I to you>
The myriad, or the clone?
You keep me enshrined.
You rekindle yourself.
You say the circle is perfect, but it ends 4 corners behind.
I guess I'm only history.
Set me alight
If you dare.
Expelling breath, pursed softly love,
My sibilant tongue expounds the phrase,
Of Eden found and feathered words,
Flown weather thieved. Carried on
A nomad breeze, perhaps to die
Unheeded upon the lake shore
Mud flats. Or picked apart by
Cormorant beaks and swallowed down,
Digested in an acid tract composed
Of oil and water gulped. Or sonar burn
An aural canal, drilled, drizzled
Raindrop patterns sizzled course
Through natural pathways, morse and air
To crystalise the creeping smile that
Other eyes decipher not;
Creating your cognisant guise
A Mona Lisa semblance.