i woke up all solidified and my eyes strong fixated on Matthyon you are grotesque dream alike rosé cheeks the sour cream kind dusted with finger prints we parade in cities sick in dust cities in parchment we remain fragile they get fingered
i had to ask for Matthyon's name your spelt-out request you came to me held a finger up for every letter carefully, mysteriously my new alphabet
Matthyon we fought each other for bread in white rooms i dusted my cheeks with yeast; saw you bore the mark drawn on pages the male curiosity in dust makes me cough the pride i have slumbers
you waved and smiled with rosé fever Matthyon alluding to how my dreams may express feelings and love how the question was cut out of my flesh i want this to be well done
Matthyon the clouds do not often agree on the psyche of the human being untransparant down there it slips through their fingers; blood stains appear in the sky on those evenings only
and i'm finding part of it in the pages of parchment bibles make me dust off my puffed embarrassed cheekbones i look up i split meat from bone i want this to be well done