Waltz (Automatism)

it is with an open hand that I eat from your forehead
a small sedative lives in your brow
a sullen landscape that invigorates
i am nothing but what you are
and my wonder is full
and pregnant
a car ride of stolen goods
that we’ll eventually set free
a corpse of powder
the ignition is idle
push your foot in, make a beast of it
send currents to its cylinders
consider my hands on leather
and picture your smallness swelling
i am the pump and romance
a deck of cards reversed
where’s the pressure?
where’s the insane?
a glance
a stance
a thorn kiss in the middle of howls
will you swallow my broken?
will it make us mute?
will our bellies rip with our slang?
our vernacular in cadence with the breathing of trees
a circuit gland that kindles into spines
egg droppings like berry blood on beaks
parched
etched on tar and lime
alabaster veil I crack
with chisel and awl
and sew you back/
annexed to a cooling dive
where pearls and abyssal hills
resemble your heave
your grieve
our reprieve
temporary hush
no crying
breath held like wings in full speed
come to me
I’ll sigh at your gate

 

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