the pain blooms like a newly wed
- a subtle rose which ripples in my cupped palms
I breathe in the red
lungs expanding
with summer sibilance
as if your rose tongue still curled in mine
- our mouths holding hands

I leave my window open
god
I never pray for
may creep inside
in the night
rescue me from
this figure
inside my skin.

It bears no name
my hollowed shell
for the best
as with a name
comes power
and more sway
over the tides of my fluttered grip
over the glint of such ceasing sharpness
seizing spluttered breaths
throwing down a maiden's gauntlet
for god fears this spectre
more than I
its tangibility precedes its face
and I feel the icy fingers
long before
I pray.

whittled song hath hollowed my bird bones
it seems like every embrace of night heeds my wails
perhaps it is but a flight of neverending destiny
that I would collide with an usurping infinity

the feeling is fleeting,
it skids,
ice melting under tacky bubble gum shoes,
on the boundless plains of ire in my mind,
clean swept,
I observe this foreign invader,
trace its figure for clues,
has it come here for me,
or is that too self assured?

it is a brilliant yellow budgie squawking out in the dawn,
its beaded eyes reflect like sharps for dappled sun,
the girl with the yellow raincoat twists her hips,
she imagines the budgie's wings could cover her skin quite fashionably.

The wave lilts,
lulls and ebbs in time with morning croons,
we all shelter our tired eyes,
watching white horses as they race to their dooms.

the ulcers in my stomach twist in tune with your lyricism,
my ears twitch, unbidden, heed your call of candy,
your words, my teeth ache as if you had scoured me dry,
I lick my lips to try and remember the taste,

a mystery would be if you had stayed,
your absence, rather, is a settlement of expectation,
I humble myself when lying down in your indentations,
the bed still holds the impressions of your body
- yet my memory fades

I squint my eyes in the dark,
so long, so tuned out, that they ache,
in the dark I can also see the exact shade of your eyes,
but come morn it fades to whispers.

transparency slips, incandescent, into the lock,
this sweeping tilting feeling sinks lower,
we sway on the obelisk of an eye in the sea,
the storm whirls with madness unbidden,
yet the film of venerability burns on,
a spluttering candle of stone will