Wordle #169

Word Art (4)

I find myself pitted
against the darkness.
A darkness that holds
within as without.
Every face I meet is cracked
when reflected in my eyes.
Every whisper is a scream
that fails to reach the surface
and there is nothing cathartic
about a fearful silence.

I have glued feathers to my dress.
Feathers that do not hoist.
Feathers smelly with improvisation.
I blink but the tears still come,
a parade, a phronesis
of well-meaning advice
that bites but does not
serve to amend me.

There is a skein in my heart
that snags whatever it can from the ether
as if one could subsist entirely on potential.
Deep down I want to suck you dry.
Deep down I want to feel
the source of all creation
spilling down the back of my throat
hot and instinctual.
When you think about it
we make perfect sense
the truth being itself an abstraction.

I shrink beneath the curve
of your baffling Mona-Lisa smile.
I know that you can feel me,
even when I’ve lost the thread
of our conversation
in favor of your perfect mouth.
Every night I follow you
to the other side of the moon.
The sky spread out above us
volatile as water
and infinite in its manifestations.
Sometimes I forget how
various we all are.
I could be anyone or everyone
and yet it is you alone that I want.