From the shadows I appear an imp
Red as an apple, red as the lips
That occupy its scabrous flesh.
My eyes wallow
Tucked into the furrows
Of their considerations
Veils woven of regard
And denser with time
Like the patches of a quilt.
A world of aqueous distortions
Awaits me, a world
Of seas pulled drop by drop
Through a channel smaller
Than a needle’s flirtatious eye.
My memories are cold
My bridges razed
Bat-winged passages
That shriek and nip.
I must be a masochist
To come here so often.
Your fingerprints
Sheath my bones
A film like the smut
Of cream on plastic
Water does not absolve
Your breach and soap
Does not penetrate scars.
My thoughts are with you
Against you, powerless
In their recounting
And what is the epoxy
That holds families together?
Is it blood?
Is it the thresholds of salt
Like the tracks of cocaine poured
Cautiously over a cosmetic mirror?
Is it the transmission of secrets?
The indictment of a soul
Too young to comprehend cruelty?
Is it guilt which boasts the deepest roots?
mindlovemisery 