winter gets c(old)

It’s a carnival crush. From arcades to archaic
From boquets to berated. Here, have my cardigan, love.
Carving initials into the bark, nick the surface
Spell-bound by hand-strokes your wrist made with the cursive
First-time impressionist. To see your signature engraved
Tattooing mended wounds to suggest I was okay

If I get to the point where no ones’ love embroiders me, I’d mix the oil, the clay, and color coordinate the sordid seams. Then simply voice it, & wholeheartedly agree. Tend to wounds, but then forget the ointment/gauze. Intensely consoling. The pensive motions. Embark through the darkness and depart from my esteem. That’s the … Continue reading