Nevermind
unwatered tulips,
burnt wicks,
or grape-vines
crushed
inside a mirror
at the center.
Fabrics under
dried wax accuse
when the blinds
can see vertical
obscurity
rising through
our limbs.
Reflections
on thin ice
that circles
and hangs air
breathing itself,
it loops at
liquid corners
like confessions
in a foreign tongue.
Author notes
'.'
Comments
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hmmm
reads like "forget the world and stay in bed" (which is just divine) but is worded as a kind of neglect, it seems. as if your surroundings are bitterly jealous. how delightful.
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