The clouds slipped away beneath the spaces of your fingers.
I use to be the desire that overflowed from the mouth of madness.
We define calm like a tooth being pulled out.
Soothing as liquid metal down your throat.
I feel so reckless and strange,
Words of things often misspelled and unsaid.
There is a motion of lint under the imprint of your disguise.
It seems like thought and control is beyond clockwise.
Let me flow down like a river.
Beneath the rocks and sunken boats.
Let me flow down softly against the region of your body.
Let my lips kiss every pore on the landscape of your skin.
There is a colorless image, underground and rare.
Her smile, slightly beyond despair.
In your deepest pond, I drown in feathers.
Sometimes I can’t say the words I want to say.
Instead I’ll paint the sky blue.
And give you the sun.
In the fabric of sun rays that shines deep in the basement of my soul.
There is a clutter of words I often trip on.
But I don’t think you mind at all.
I’m just a writer after all.
When all the love I have sinks deep into the discoloration of sunsets.
The desolate of poetry dresses in a fabric of black wool.
Let’s burn, burn our hands from the scrutiny of warmth.
Am I falling or floating?
Or maybe I am just a rock you can pick up with one arm.
I can already sink my teeth in steel.
Like the softest wings I can easily tear apart.
This is the part I like most.
When the blanket scorns the flesh of wounds.
and all the pretty noises sink out of holes of my soul.