MAUDLIN MAWS▪︎Poetry (3)

37. Diagnosis

Haven't I given you reasons to leave ?
Whetting my shriveled breath on your patina-entrenched artistry
Impeling the copper gaze hovering on my body
To preclude it's havering
Let the rills of your prurience ram my disposed spread of meat
Have a treading on the addictive cinder-patch in me
The rind of ours in scards sticking to the leather of the backseat
Chest to chest; a bijou of a little heaven chalks the ceiling in cherry stars
Skulking the gloom partaking the attics of our battered minds, the basements of the halved hearts;
Belongings of vitiated beings of great ramparts.

A search of teeth and reaming gums
The mouth big like an adored erasure giving motive for pain to profuse_
And I'm nothing but a convenience to experience abuse
(your free trial at love)
Merely because I do not know of a touch that left the medium of my chiffon-flesh without a wake of magenta
Amplifying what I already embroided of ultramarine sunders evocative on the wrists
But love renounces pride,
Concedes to the fragmentation of decency's glorified airs
There...is the end of our self-wasting determination;
You forgetting that our hands_ snared
Are still touching while standing in the parting station
A culmination of stubbornness dawning from despair itself
Not nudging to leave
_or understand that this case we fell in is contrary to the unsolicited means of purification we have dreamed to wash away the sin in
This is no diagnosis of Love
But of people pretending to feel some other than the pale gab of vacancy dinning away at their hearts' capacity

19/4/2023