Sepia

 

These glass-rips, on starboard sail, float across potted water just the same

On street corner of the travel polaroid, I am a snake-prince or wolf-charmer

Twenty-percent of the times they break my skin, I don’t even care if I die

With all I can say, I mostly say what I say

 

On a Sunday night before a Monday morning, wine and poison only differ in bottle shape

Turning tufts of rough cunnilingus prayers into voodoo dolls of us for the blessed kissing

Our tongues dance similar in overindulgent belly dancing under an old smoking jacket

Whisper between your thighs; hear my voice call me better than I give myself credit for

You claw my back like my old church pew, showing me justified genuflection

Knees that scrub the more infectious spots know love can get sore

 

I ask her what do you believe in,

My elven mermaid with bay windows for sepia sunflower bulbs,

When you are the thing that is believed in?

 

Published at Claudius Speaks