Wordle #184

Week 174
You were the first
to send me to Windglum,
the first to growl in my ear,
the first to dampen my heart with kiss.
I loved you only so much as I was able,
which proved daunting and insufficient.

To what do I owe this abysmal fall?
Was it a word or a deed or an absence?
My breath sours as I speak.
I will not call to you in our native tongue
I will not flail or beg or commit
to another futile attempt at reconciliation.
You have gone off now like a comet
and though alone I am still only a harlequin.

(written in 2 minutes, my god I need to find some time to write)


Wordle #182

Week 172.png

My hips are a guillotine

cleaving satin with each giddy stroke.

Limbs akimbo, I ground myself to a pulp.

I just want to feel until I am raw and broken.

In my mouth love is dangerous,

a lotus redder then any sunset.

I gorge myself on belief

and in belief the genius of union

gives way to the marginally absurd.

My heart is a fusillade,

the blooms of my bloodline

crackle and blacken.

Will you force

my memories in place

when they wonder off course?