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Once more on the threshing floor

October 17, 2018

I’ve hid my pieces behind paper
folded and scribbled,
indecipherable labyrinths
to even these fingers,
scrambling lost
every letter a minotaur,
every silent breath
a golden thread
criss crosses through
the cobblestones till you’re
back to the threshing floor
rupturing my spirit
50 cc’s of your breath
upon my neck,
absolute whiskey
shivered and whispered
dark and deep
might of could woke you
or sing you back to sweet sleep
brush sneaky fingers
gimme
those lips, get me stuck in
pink purses for days
caught in this torn net
before I’m back
dreaming again, breathed in
ground,
crushed, unsheathed
and brittle dust
ready to connect and catalyze
and rise to feed
back to bed, or now, eaten
find a place to lay my head.

From → Poetry

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