Friday, 31 March 2017

cosmic latitude

glass in my curves and stale eyes

tipsy with thrifty betrothed tears.

come on to me and dance while the hair

off my crown tilts into your dimension.

synergy fists bleeding through stoned

spines; illuminate and break freedom

into my undone omnipresent.


i call this the cosmic latitude 

i call on the cosmic latitude 

i am in yours and you are mine.




 



 

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...