Your lips, though muffled, sizzle.
Every enunciated hello burns
With a singular commitment
A desire for addition,
For language both raw and organic.
I will not be a number, however,
Profitable I have a right to more
Than my ill-placed existence.
–
The sun stomps malignantly
Through a fair-weather sky.
I empty my hollow leg
Into your ripped stockings.
The background seethes
Deities of necessity and invention
With scratch and sniff powers
And interminable reach.
It takes a lifetime
To forge one’s desires
And several more
To elicit them.
*
Not such a good day for writing I have a serious case of sleepiness despite having already slept long and deep!
mindlovemisery 