napalm lovers, wet
and wild with scorn
the summering fragrances of
our youths — the mists thriving
on your lips
goaded into pitfalls of remembering,
this pheromonal.
as mountains bathed in moonrise,
her fingers are sunrays,
her fingernails axial,
these dances in secret;
i grow sins in this
confessional.
there is no finer rhythm than
these harmonious accidents;
we collide and create craters
upon each other's skin
until tomorrow we pretend
we can be whole again.
— A. P.
YOU ARE READING
Accidents: A Collection of Poetry
PoetryIt's like learning a new tongue; like befriending an unfamiliar book, and finding love expressed in a million different languages that I cannot understand nor explain. - you have kept me awake for far too long Antoinette Prescott, 2016 "Accidents" i...
