Sometimes I feel her creep the edge of sleep
Where the city is burning,
I dream her mouthful of ashes.
I taste her starfish nova against the tide.
Her body is a book of matches;
Mine, a text, highlighted and underlined.
She weeps the sea-scuttle into an undertow.
Her fulsome wing, span of nightshade,
Weight-casts the lure to take flight,
Carrying her two shadows into the valley.
He says: *Yes, I live in paradise.
The red tide is mine.
The bioluminescent. The drowned,
The ungainly specie God has set aside.*
Feb 6, 2014
Feb 6, 2014 at 2:55 PM UTC
Sometimes I feel her creep the edge of sleep
Where the city is burning,
I dream her mouthful of ashes.
I taste her starfish nova against the tide.
Her body is a book of matches;
Mine, a text, highlighted and underlined.
She weeps the sea-scuttle into an undertow.
Her fulsome wing, span of nightshade,
Weight-casts the lure to take flight,
Carrying her two shadows into the valley.
He says: *Yes, I live in paradise.
The red tide is mine.
The bioluminescent. The drowned,
The ungainly specie God has set aside.*
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