Skin Tunes and Memory Tropes

What if I look up and a corpse dangles? What if the nail sits tighter around my lips? What if your kiss makes me lose the words? “I Saw in Louisiana a live oak growing.”

The friction of our pens on Paper do not produce any Sparks anymore. We survive On the fringes—you the bitter Sufi me the aspiring luddite. Evenings would have been

If you yearn the brown-black of the coffee-beads wild enough, chances are, you would also learn to trace the outlines of the curse-words which wrap my silence. Eventually.

What I wouldn't give to see the silhouette of a star emblazened on the glass of my window-sill. Even a dead one, dare I say, will do? At least, for now? Another little defeat.