Monday, November 16, 2009

Burning Yellow

Burning Yellow

You say these words-
like there's ink on your mouth.

I can see the burnt yellow paint drip from your lips-
dead duck chicks-

feathers flurry round-
like a soul fallen down,

cobalt blue draining tears-
tragic spectrum fans it's array~

pearl coloured bulbs crack in the permasoil-
of glasson frost fingers-

winters children,

christmas lights soften the hardened taut cheeks
of our lustful lovers~

And my red,
like petals off a lenten-

my lips over bitten out of nervousness
in anticipation of the unknown ink that you pour over me,

that paint a hill vibrant-

A soul more true than ever thought possible.
And I,

am here,

burning dead blossoms'

Violets, peonies, lavender-
pink fairy slippers

crisping them away-

as your colours submerge into my acrid haze.

Salivated potpourri fills-
like a brumey magestic smog

of warm breath

breathed from cold lips-

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