I loved her lips, honestly,
the oligarchy
of senses swearing
scarlet skin
sitting atop organs
opened an entryway
into other dominions.

I’ve sworn since
that I sense energy
in the mannerisms
of mystics migrating
by, though my cortex
claims plainly this
is prejudice playing.

The cliffs are distant,
as is the kitchen
counter, unreachable
as is the third grade
and old age,
and any level
outside of understanding.

Babble syllables
in rythmic spinning.
The basement of your brain
begins bopping.
Muscles twitch to assure
you that you loved her, more
than just her lips.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s