prophet tongue with
stabbing perceptions
i gave him my name
while in bed.

soft white curtains
though still chamber thick
cold steel hands
and the room sliced into pieces
by morning light
but haunted by night sounds
crept into open wounds of the heart

chills.

his hand
resting on my thigh while he snores
summer bruised and adventurous
though callous youth
with his unbandaged scabbed knee
skating last night.

moment forgotten in the carride
but a stone monument staring
at me on the kitchen counter.

I can no longer hide
My soul ignited

once disparaged
I long to share it

The chills in my spine put into words

Lips on skin
Eyes filled with sin

What is this sensation

I drip colors you cannot see

Heightening my passion
Enhancing my touch

Raw emotion channeled as such

My desire aches
The color of flush
My cage breaks
Expressions of lust

I do not fear it
I can hear you blush

My favorite sound

Our souls combust

Most times,
I wished these fragments...
These fractions of a whole
would come together...

Forming the most astute of thoughts.
Illuminating the darkest of corners.
Piecing together and revealing the grandest of pictures.

But such is the nature
of a convoluted mind
because often times
they do not.

What’s hidden and buried?

Takes a lot of digging.
But there’s just too many layers,
too much dirt.

What am I looking for?

Takes a lot of dismantling.
But there are too many
cogs and parts so tiny,
they simply fall
through the gaps between my fingers.

Can’t remember...

Takes too much to uncover.
To find a moment
of clarity however brief.
To find a speck in space,
a second in time where I am found.