Nothing

It is a spell sewn

from lips a quiver;

the veil of a tongue

amorous and sweet on

You.

 

It is a spell sewn

From a place that is

Caged and Sleepless,

Feeling romance in what it cannot

“In a million years”

Celebrate.

 

It is a spell sewn

from a part that longs,

soaked in tincture;

becoming nakedĀ over

time.

 

It is a spell sewn

from a stain on those lips

“The last straw,”

a pistol drawn to scribe

a part of my soul unto

You.

 

now You must

weave.

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A Play and Portrait of Memory

My memories are a perversion:

Caricatures of Christmas morning,

a distance from closeness;

numb noses; undressed

figurines sealed in space

of Coffee, cinnamon & pine.

 

Or

My memories have been perverted:

I am a caricature of a dreaming sapling

distanced from closeness,

dressed in numbness

a figurine vacuum sealed

caked in cologne: sweet and sticky.