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May 2017
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
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