I reign in my edges,
Those wild horses,
Those meandering battalions
Dismal in their projections
Intent upon war.
–
I plant roses by the seashore,
The salt of my withdrawal
Fashioning bullets of thorns.
The preliminary thrust
Rips locks into forbidden flesh.
Oh how I want to trespass you
To rearrange the signals
That perpetuate your repulsion.
–
Held under the ball of your foot
My prehensile limbs stray
From the carapace, a stain,
Spotted only as a byproduct of death
And if I gather up all my reliquaries
I would still be empty save
For my bitter black blood.
mindlovemisery 