Retrograde | poem

Chewing blue lips,
I retrace steps through stars,
Flirting with moons,
Choosing to peruse
Not blood.

Maybe this mess is crucial,
A reverse foxtrot
Of love, stumbling
Over toes, numbing
Spines to dip
Deep and long.

Maybe this mess is sacred,
A puddle of black matter
Flattening my frills,
Clipping me to the edge
Of God’s ruby
Belly ring.


Popular posts from this blog

Attachment Theory | poem

Why Modern Politics is Destroying Us

World Pieces | poem