dad’s numb lips two bruised slugs comatosey cozy glued onto a paper-mâché head. lips the delicate hue of grape skin tinted by self-asphyxiation.
his wet mouth became unexciting so I rested my head on his chest on a wine-blemished button down intoxicating me. the blotch soon wore off onto my neck a small patch bitten reddish purple. speckled flesh–a stamp of lust.
his universe existed in an 8oz Styrofoam cup. a cough syrup medley shimmering violet with needle-head fizzy stars. sip, swallow, spent. he made his galactic purple potion perish. and in this way he was God.
a baby was born a seed gorged out of a plum wailing in a thin sheet of sheer mulberry plastic.
we were made good for lavender stacks weaved into flowering quilts warm enough for a peasant foot.
you are the royal dye of Joseph’s coat of many colors. I am the artificial tinge of a grape flavored popsicle stick stain on a bathrobe. what if Joseph wore a bathrobe?
rotting plum for a knee you kiss it ripely – a sunset sickly blooming
Dead servants, feed me medicine ball grapes off the Divine