grace emulsified and patented
lips in trails cooler fire a song
penetrating fingertips leading
the way across and down
the southlands,
warm/and/wet/and/ waiting
with gunfire
with need of revolution
with traps for the wandering
spines electric, pulsing
releasing vertebrae into
the open-aired night, starless and cold
fleece just long enough to conceal
unexpected flame
so what if the whole house
burns down
timbers smoking, walls collapsing
at the cry of
Freedom
at least it was destroyed
in love
1 comment:
at least.
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