come the drift as
voices fade away
the taste of ash
'cross my tongue
distrust, the taste
of dream
bone hands stolen
of twilight childe
hold onto me, hold
Tag: betwixt and between
hold
Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash pict-too
Photo by Sandra Seitamaa on Unsplash a slendering into irrelevance
pict-too pict-too painted blue
—and now the unwanting
to crawl down to bed in seek
to find a dream in shiftspace
between the you and the me
that clackbone cracking
after the summer, corewood
once living, now dead
kiss me before the afterglow fades
pict-too pict-too all painted blue
to slip to my slendering againsudden summer
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com sudden summer rain
calls to the napping
of grey dark the room
i still ache to dream
winter tales,
winter songcrash
Photo by Stephane Gagnon on Unsplash distractions become bliss with
the fever of fingers dancing
in the darkest shadows and
a kiss before that small death
where stars blur and blend
slipstream into one present
into rising waves of pasts
beyond remembering
to crash into youconsuming flame
Photo by Ville Palmu on Unsplash dirt under nails
cut ragged for
all the digging
leaving roots
bared to the sun
my lifeblood
flows these
seeking fingers
and i stare
wondering
where it has
all been drawn
wicker the dreams
at the man
caging flame
consume all
desires for ashher waters flow
under burning skies
and
echoes in between
wander as shuffle
grow at weary
aching for a fall
to wash hands in
her waters flowaxis;
Photo by Tengis Galamez on Unsplash we all a whorl
turning in & out
labyrinthine & fell
for the internal
shadowed twists
allowing for hel in our
heart bone hearts
can you see your teeth?
we lay down there
at the wytching tree
buried of her womb
wishing we could
embrace her dreamdreamspacing
Photo by Alice Alinari on Unsplash kissing at distance
hands dreamlaced time
drawspacing the narrows
thin between eachwith line
mouth to breath shared
of lips gone surrender
no longer bound of care
silkslip and thigh
that flesh dreamt skin
pulling pastlives present
willing you inspinning stone
Photo by Suzanne Rushton on Unsplash a twist on a turn of words
her flower, his hunger
they spin stone for bottle
counting crows perched
high on the live wire
to see who gives what & how
his is the spring
& her seething gives to dance
with her flair, her flail
her everything & ghost
his everything & love
suspecting the hollow
of the old trunk
in the field alone stands
they spin bottle for stone
while crows writhe & laugh
at how the given becomes what
in seething this spring
