Wordle #253

253.jpg

I watch your tawny fingers
creep over my flesh,
smoothing me down like plaster.
An existential mist, a trap
worth the ache of excess.

The crack in your lucid smile,
the chill spilling down my spine
like punishing vines.
I’ve no use for tassels or veneers
in your presence, I am diverse,
I am ripe in endeavor,
I am Vesuvius mid-burst.

Love is mad it does not jive
with my self-proclaimed image.
You are a promontory of salt,
a threshold unbreachable.
Angels never tell
what they know
because in the mouths
of humans everything
curdles to a shriek.

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12 responses to “Wordle #253

  1. Pingback: Steamy Bayou Dreamin’ | LINES of SHADEAU·

  2. “An existential mist, a trap
    worth the ache of excess.”

    I know that’s right. 😉

    This is my favorite section:

    “I’ve no use for tassels or veneers
    in your presence, I am diverse,
    I am ripe in endeavor,
    I am Vesuvius mid-burst.”

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