Untitled

The slow and burning fire rests like the ox.

There are dung beetles on the floor, living smoke

reaching from the nostrils, branches like mail across the wire-hairs of the chest.

The feelings are woven deep into the crutch, the slow motion of your hips in the tub,

sipping my milky fingers from the jar.

dash into the sidewalk,

brace the hood against the cold and the sharpness of heels

live like wind, do not stop for boys, or men, and obey the silence,

cherish the moments of calm, when the anger rustles the brushes

and the pretty teeth are clenched like knuckles.

padded hands and feet slink in the dawn’s purples

calm the devils reaching for the temples, finding the lips and gasping for air

breathe the silence,

curl deeply into the heartbeat, forget the girl

at the bathroom door.

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3 thoughts on “Untitled

    1. I was out at a bar last night with friends, and I saw a couple get into a short fight…the girl ran out into the street at one point…the rest was mostly just my extrapolation of the feelings of love, jealousy, and eventual return to one another/makeup of the pair.

      Liked by 1 person

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