Like poppies blossoming on cinnamon skin,
a scent of liquidity and movement
trickles down, flowing away—a stain
pervades, hiding from the light.
Just a bite through appled flesh
and it all fades milky cold
to glisten against the shadowed
halls without a sound; falling
is not forgiven
nor is it bound in a leathery
tome affixed with flutters
of seraphim and songs
chanted to darkened walls
hollowed: the name of timeless
beauty. Garnet drains in a pulse
breaking against the grain
within the hourglass and hands
that grasp at forever.
So alone. And frail with thoughts
of staying that way; every footfall
never finding another stride
to syncopate beside. Fear
is made of un-belonging, like
a lion’s anguish lolling
through his teeth, predatory sharp
but lamenting for the lamb
and desire and everything
not supposed to be acquired
by the one abandoned by faith.
Sep 8, 2010
Sep 8, 2010 at 2:09 AM UTC
Like poppies blossoming on cinnamon skin,
a scent of liquidity and movement
trickles down, flowing away—a stain
pervades, hiding from the light.
Just a bite through appled flesh
and it all fades milky cold
to glisten against the shadowed
halls without a sound; falling
is not forgiven
nor is it bound in a leathery
tome affixed with flutters
of seraphim and songs
chanted to darkened walls
hollowed: the name of timeless
beauty. Garnet drains in a pulse
breaking against the grain
within the hourglass and hands
that grasp at forever.
So alone. And frail with thoughts
of staying that way; every footfall
never finding another stride
to syncopate beside. Fear
is made of un-belonging, like
a lion’s anguish lolling
through his teeth, predatory sharp
but lamenting for the lamb
and desire and everything
not supposed to be acquired
by the one abandoned by faith.
First publisher: Skive Magazine available at http://www.skivemagazine.com/