gnaw red your bone
in the aliform of dream
this
allocation of my
guts spreads lips
onto stained paint buckets
I
never meant for
us to be beautiful
adding
music
to every line
that came out
your mouth—
a moth-springing
butterfly
its
wings no longer
dusted but
dried and wasteful.
it was the
paradox of doubt
and
I cried through
painkiller night
Jan 23, 2018
Jan 23, 2018 at 11:43 AM UTC
gnaw red your bone
in the aliform of dream
this
allocation of my
guts spreads lips
onto stained paint buckets
I
never meant for
us to be beautiful
adding
music
to every line
that came out
your mouth—
a moth-springing
butterfly
its
wings no longer
dusted but
dried and wasteful.
it was the
paradox of doubt
and
I cried through
painkiller night
