it was a breathtaking oval
that sat atop the crown
which is probably not
what i mean to say,
but a shoulder, yes,
propping up the eye
of the morning
like a lucid
dragonfly
zigzagging on the wings
of mercies and men
{the eye is a fable and
every vision is a fiction, but
not every fiction is our enemy}
beside the specter of a forgotten sun
the air spun with the mad
clarity of a mood ring
over a horizon of skulls
and saints, and the wind
was an arrow that only blew
straight
thin as a caterpillar’s breath
a metamorphosis was occurring
so bore the sign that
clung to the trees like
melted violins
translation: there is no us and them
{division is the curse of perception
there is relief in intentional
alterations of blindness}
it was a nu blue, alt air, and
the skin of the earth bloomed like
watercolor
beneath the curvature
of a woman’s
half-parted frown
(her spine ran in the
shape of a devil and
halted like chrome
at the lips
of her lover)
{a kiss is the common denominator
among all anatomical
times and spaces}
Like this:
Like Loading...
The curvature of abstract concepts,
such as borders, race, and religion,
ends and begins within the whim
of a denominators broken breath.
That stolen air belongs to those who
kiss and dare 😎
LikeLike
…and a single kiss can ignite a thousand breaths 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
A mystical attraction. Lovely work 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person
Thank you very much! 🙂
LikeLiked by 1 person