Until a Gush of Crimson
By blackeyedsusan
- 549 reads
Until a Gush of Crimson
With everything night wrapped up.
I am a wet blanket in ink.
Forgotten corner of a park
where he played and you stood as my
mother stood
(I was young and light-haired).
Left his orange peel, red play thing, and a duck with water
spinning off its smooth brown wing
temporary as tomorrow and I
am nothing nothing and quiet, while
your face sets on a television outline of the day
and your mouth moves along my insecurity problem.
What are we after?
intelligent chatter, backward curving of your mouth shaped odd
and sterile.
And saddest of all
the Atlantic has not altered unhinged night
when everything is weighted. A slight
imbalance makes it easy so
let's end it
let's allow it to slip
through soft pink cleaned
by bighting hemp or twine pulled
until a gush of crimson smiles
(and I fall asleep).
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