My body is in desperate need of falling
Without hesitation – so that my bones would break on impact
— scattered into chalk lines gone missing
Like plastered spores on white-trimmed windows
I’m contaminated like Mistletoe & Sycamore trees
Drawn by marble and granite,
Holding true to soft, cathedral lighting:
I am tempted to try and rout the Moon out of envy
As I’m confined by halls built out of tinted wine —
In prisms, I do wonder forthright if true colors do dye
Till I desiderate romance so hopelessly I find my way back to religion
Like, ‘Jesus, I love you’
Forgive me, for I think of you more often
When taking reference to write new definitions of beauty:
Like, “She.”
A whisper said treading slow,
Glowing like the setting sun,
Leaving me red as Rudolph in the winter snow —
How treasonous am I …
To let my skin turn a goose and melt away like caramel
To listen to the (heart’s) murmurs, babbling like moments of deep conversation steeped in
pre-acquired contemplation— REACH, FOR, HER, HAND!
To want her to take my ribs and have them as her own,
To interlock souls, combined, like inosculated trees —
… How sinful is it to want to die in a forest fire?
From,
The girl who wonders sometimes if her prayers ever reached you