Surealisme and Fantasy digital painting Christian Schloe Artwork

Daria Petrilli

He extends a finger

Wedging it between my ribs

As if a muzzle or contract

His brand of love

Is not the sort

That passes openly

Between recipients

It is the sort that festers

Within its host

And bleeds dry

Those foolish enough

To interlope


I thought that I

Could sustain you

On juxtaposition

Entering your darkness

Without spilling a drop

But gravity proved

Too confrontational

(Fragments rarely

Invoke a worthy orbit)


We’re at an impasse

An afterbirth embedded

Into the trenches of

Our trenchant lungs

Whenever we kiss

The flames rise up

Like the red fronds

Of a byzantine oasis

I know it’s meaningless

But the heat abates,

For a time, the chill

Of an imminent dearth


I can’t seem to shake this block