Photo Challenge #53, March 24, 2015

Caleb

I besmirch your immaculate parchment

The gossamer cloak that hides

All that is preposterous and prohibited

Within your insouciant grin.

There are secrets

I do not wish to tell

For the pleasure is in captivity,

In the specter and the elevation

Of divinity that enigma imposes.

 

Your tears are the ejaculate

Of an oppositional cosmology.

I would pour vinegar in your wounds

Rather than watch you spoil.

A stray hair admonished with a sweep,

A lip ripened in a coffin of teeth.

Consciousness flowers

From your promiscuous veins.

 

I’ll wake in the abdication of dreams

A thief with counterfeit claims

Unable to distinguish the numbers

On the clock in the ruin of twilight.

Where is my alveolus?

My glowing white core?

It is not me but the world

That is upside down.

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For

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