As a corvus, rusticating itself from
in dishabille, atrophied tremulant gams
cuneiform in the ferment trail
of a bistred dimmet
with what tinctures will you fresco me
when le soleil consummates his
hara-kiri prang
we both bled broken from a beaded rib
reflecting in unison to are inner space
onomatopoeias
blind,
will you abjure placements
of morphing hues
frippery lesions upon your brio
calcimining my effigy with the
exemplary besom of a
gilt-edge rubbings virtuoso
i’d rather you cohere
to atramentous briny deeps
be led to burrow into
cabalistic pomade daubs
with padlocked arcus senilis
to simply
feel me;
I yearn us to be limned as tantamount
refulgence as rubricated flesh
a lemma in our bible of passion
in wind-torn freedom as we cross stitch
Yahweh\'s atrial flutter with Eros threading
paint us on a tableau curtain
in the gloaming sky
that we might chum up to
the constellations adding a
tendrillar cruor drop before we join them
if someday
your pitch fork stilettos grace
the pedicels I walk on,
gift me this,
or do I deem a dream too much?
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