

paradise child.His love, he says, is red, green and gold. Golden, like my body in the glow of the single bulbed room, (or silver depending on the moon.) Red, as the rivers Nile that pulse and swell beneath our skin, faster faster, or slowly slowly, but always constant. Green, like cannabis; like my eyes, like his thumbs.paradise child.
He says that all women are Delilahs. He weaves wicker chairs and refuses their use. He says a lot of things, I tell him. He nods once, twice. Looks away, relights his blunt. Peeks at me through his curtain of locks, smiles. If I am Delilah, he is Sampson. If I am his downfall, he lets me be so willingly. &nbs
"i am tree"

to every garden snakeThe pulse between my breaststo every garden snake
has asked for a note. has asked, been asking, won't ask anymore, but listen okay - to things with out-of-tune crescendos, discord in the night and beginning with a bang. lying in impossible positions and conditions, under skies that are not skies but roads that serve only meats impeccably exquisite and stored beneath scaly knuckle cavities. hidden
here are my lips injected with viper liquor and daggers. here, come here while i present my uneven hips under an alligator's moon. now
close your eyes and devour my name fr
Yeah.
That's right.
--
The soul mate is what we aspire to and like to understand about us, is what we deem to be perfection, purity and endless regarding our own being.
-Sorin Cerin
--
breathe.
Thank you and have a great day!
--
"Im not a writerI just have an unhealthy obsession with words."
xo!
--
I am a poetry admin for *DailyLitDeviations.
interested in collaborating?
writer, photographer, painter, whatever(er) -
I'll mix with words with anything you've got.
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