Illustration by Sinta Maria Siby
play the incendiary
and let these firefighting tongues put out the flames
while moans recite the elegy of your innocence
a rhythmic crashing and receding of gasps
strike like tides of cyan and silver
in concurrence against the shore.
the resonant thumping of my heart
pulverised your walls of stone.
hurry, alert the hounds,
the gates are crashing.
perhaps, in your abandoned ruins
a sapling shall find a home
and birth a woodland from the succession.
your ribcage rises like the virgin sunrise
splattering rays, painting your irises
a rough-edged onyx, now a bashful amber.
let us lock eyes so I can stargaze a little while longer.
there are tributaries etched on your hips
like an indiscernible scripture
a treasure map
lost in the aromatic, browned pages of an old book.
as you close the space between us
infinity stretches her arms.
zeno chuckles in heaven.
has the earth forgotten to spin
or have I forgotten that I'm standing?
thread your digits in the gaps between mine
and upholster my arms to the bedpost
for this finger, a raconteur is making me remember
what it feels like to be loved.
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