when the sun fears enough to cower over
the moon with its knees and
is kissing the tender
glass of the mirror
that reflects one side,

neptune weeps like a baby
birthed from a place unknown
yet needy all the same.

with that,
my eyes are forced open
my hands to take its waist,
its apple that was once
part of a tree.

heat sears me like stigma
yet this is different:

a paradox that speaks
not in tongues of abuse
or nationalism of one's mind.

instead,
this new sensation
is accompanied by
a high-pitched falsetto
as if feeling every paper cut
**** into his mind,
his flesh of lost innocence.

then, when reaching out
to touch this "him",
this hymn i've found,
his skeletal oblivion makes itself known.

- eozyoh. 8.12.2017. 12:42 am

I remember kissing her lips
but it wasn't the ones on her face