Wednesday, 22 November 2023

by the time you see this

there will be nothing left of
my plural mess;
just the, broken. 

and as many punctuation 
identities made me,
purification was never
underlined or forgiven. 

underneath my skins we
were the most delicious.
over my folds we just crisped
off into melted dust;
i am no longer his mold.
i am yours.

heat beats

heartbeats in my palms  with tiger sky skin and tanned eyes with red clouds.  heaven sent another angel and Zen breathed again.  love slathe...