Friday, 8 July 2016

swallowed

do your eyes understand how
far my lashes are willing to swim;
beyond a sequenced dragonfly.
i dreamt of your open cloud
atlas and woke to my subtitled
glory. subtle notes underline
the floating nerves of our past lives
as we sit and close our fists;
we open our eye to those eyes.
steadfast my morning breathes
into long eclipsed moons. 



 

this will be my last poem

so that i remember. because before melted steel, there was hand-made, better, buttered words. we can decide if new spaces beneath me can qui...