a waxing crescent grows thicker
every day—a careening sickle
half-hugged and begging
—below, flying flecks
of salt. The
pang-tamed wile—gems wrapped in
foil and heated in
god’s shadow in space. I am
close to those I love. I am
made of molten jewels.
meltingly.
meltingly. bowl of
wisdom—a dish for
old mints and mammalian
eyes. These tears—
they are mine.
Jun 22, 2017
Jun 22, 2017 at 3:49 PM UTC
a waxing crescent grows thicker
every day—a careening sickle
half-hugged and begging
—below, flying flecks
of salt. The
pang-tamed wile—gems wrapped in
foil and heated in
god’s shadow in space. I am
close to those I love. I am
made of molten jewels.
meltingly.
meltingly. bowl of
wisdom—a dish for
old mints and mammalian
eyes. These tears—
they are mine.
