****** spittle drips from your lips
where once I tasted the proclivity
for hand rolled cigarettes and whiskey;
my saviour incarnate in a stranger’s fist.
I wear your words like welts upon my back,
five lashes, unseen by the eye yet palpable.
Lesions I pick, agape and weeping
like the feeble mouths of infants screaming.
This was never mine to mourn.
I’m licking your wounds now, your finger in my own;
and back to you again I’m bourne.
Mar 15, 2018
Mar 15, 2018 at 1:45 AM UTC
****** spittle drips from your lips
where once I tasted the proclivity
for hand rolled cigarettes and whiskey;
my saviour incarnate in a stranger’s fist.
I wear your words like welts upon my back,
five lashes, unseen by the eye yet palpable.
Lesions I pick, agape and weeping
like the feeble mouths of infants screaming.
This was never mine to mourn.
I’m licking your wounds now, your finger in my own;
and back to you again I’m bourne.
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