poetry

A tale of spring

A tangent story today.
Nothing is as quiet as it looks here.
Rudiments and claps.
A solar eclipse perhaps blooms on earth.

This is a tale of flowers and dead flowers.
The continuous realms of abandoned walls,
speaking a language to be deciphered.

Your absence is stretching today from this porch,
to the twitched leaves behind.
Anything, anything that explains me about you,
I sniff it. I embrace it like a life.

Sometimes, I fall in love
with bowls of coloured strokes,
a pattern, a lioness, a temple.
for they speak a language that tells me of spiral existence.

Skin is concentric,
skin is pious
so i emboss it with your stagnant breaths, left.
I am not sure of this perforated womb now.
There is a hint of blue woman swivelling.

Everything is strange today,
this light, a silver nocturnal bird sitting.

the captivity of orange torches glowing,
ashes of time,
volumes spoken by earth and the moon,
it’s fascinating.
you are here,
this last time,

I discovered you,
in the cellophane sheet of my ribs,
spontaneously, beneath defeated arms.
you grow here,’in my mouth.
And i preserve you as always.