Bloody Mary Wordle#182 and Writing Prompt#108

Brenda Warren

Lotion does not ease

The passage of a heart

Once the pulp has set,

Anymore than liquor

Exonerates the suffering soul.

We all have ghosts

In our mirrors and chickens

Dozing in the hinges

Of our open diaries.

–

My brain sloths in the presence

Of your pitiful machine.

I lust the reel behind

Your gimmick-ridden eyes,

It must be torture to live

Sewn into the uniform

Of your hypnotizing flesh

Never free the train that rapes you.

–

Nothing spoils like ink on revision

The sultry muse who teases

Without origination, without obligation.

The plump, unfertilized womb

That bleeds her loneliness monthly.

I await my divisions, my miracles

My tears burst on the pads of your thumbs

A diaphanous spore cannibalizing

What it cannot readily possess.

For