Synchronous Bloom

​Your body

Is my pilgrimage 

Of worship

 

A place

Where my hands reach to

Offer absolutions

 

I use my silvery tongue

To get you around the bend

And tell you that your flesh 

 

Blesses mine, with a stain

That’s more than just skin deep

 

So I press my heart against yours

Waiting for the two drums

To beat as one

 

I press my mouth against yours

And eat the words 

That died upon your lips

 

My mouth traces

Every inch of your skin and bones

Until my hunger is satiated

 

A sliver of the midnight moon

Bathes us while we

Tangle ourselves deeper into one another

 

Every heavy breath, a sonnet

Every bite, an ode

Every moan, those three tired words

 

The air is heavy

With the scent of old perfume

While our two bodies talk

 

The burden on my hands, absolves

The stars in the sky, dissolves

And the argument our bodies have, resolves

As we bloom synchronously

Forty Five

image

I press my face
Against the black mirror
In a bid to reach
The other side

What lies beyond the veil,
Beyond this window,
Is a place, where 45
Is more than just a number

It’s far from 3am
Yet, my fingers tap,
Impatiently

A bit closer
The void beckons.

The void demands.

The void requests?

It’s not even close to 3am
The voices in my head, scream

45 is far from insanity.
I find that a bit hard to digest

For what?

Nails leave
Deep scars
Into the surface

Each line bleeding
A different colour

Coherence went out the window
And yellow followed closely

Enough is enough.
I need to go there
I need to know the truth
About 45

I speak into the darkness
Whisper ever so softly
And watch in amazement
As my heart escapes into the veil

A silent scream
Escapes my lips.

A change of heart comes upon me,
And I put a stopper
On my anger

I sit quietly
Watch as all my dreams
Float into the abyss

I sit quietly
Patiently
Awaiting my turn