afterburnerslisten:pick up the slack andpick up that slack-jawed shadow of yoursdragging on wet pavement under your soles and hurry it along, we ain't got all day hereflex your white-boned fingers andtaut knuckles and pluck the soul fromits coffin in your slick throat the sun has better places to be than in your sky.
botanical maladyif i could walkthese sterling hooves along your chestand press down, hard,white peonies would bloom from your windpipepetals folding over peeled lips,floral rabies, a disease of botany.and if you could wrapyour flaxen arms around my ribs,champagne limbs melting silver,a garden would burst from my mouth.
suffocate medare me to inhale with lungsswaddled in cotton candyandtaste my tongue, pink,so sticky sweet anddampon the trailof your throat,wet rainbows leftby the blushing slugin my mouth -kiss me with a death gripon my windpipeandleaveten gifts for me,fresh blue-indigo oil slickspuddling dark and deepbeneath my flesh.
lamentfrom ivory fingertipsfall the promisesonce kept curled uptightin fists:moons left in palmsfrom holding onfor too long. &from black-tipped rose-lippedirisessprout the seedlingsof melancholy:lachrymal dewon tired cheeks,ribboning trailsbetween freckles.