With no precaution she inches closer
Eyes rattled flares and restive
Gagged for a search in the stillness of a placid room
Where he spoke of burns that sedated his sore abrasion with reality
Held the waxen tips of her fingers;
A pendent to his taction
Might embrace apart to the mercurial flesh she sheds truculently with the means of her brandy ice-cream, according and oh-ing _oh-ing body
Where night's steap quiet clutched their yealding discretion to a silk butter-milk defence apparatus
She fumbles through the covers that knew his touch as a soft mark;
Mythics of warmth once refrained in the contours of her scruff;
The symmetry of his affinity elaborating sawdust sprinklings,
Shredded motifs of an animated lustre forest abounding his character
Humouring her wits lure-offering with the riveted glamour dilapidating his sugar-lumped lips
Swearing decay on her mouth
Regardless of knowing she was undying
and that his promise is one of a corporeal god; transient to the face of this stirring sickness he relented upon
The husk unarmoured and peeled
Pending on the hunger this providence stows away in self-constain
(and indulgence of pain)
To lastly relish on his declining ebbing
Salve the crimsonned piccant posture his happenstance buckled in
Loom closer in rosette eyes that awed pearlescent pardon
Lay out smooth her cream feelings, pelagic on his sere (all-male) sensitivity
appeasing
The argument ceased
Just one leftover-being sleeping in stiff bitting covers
Struggling with a phantom fatigue
In high-jaunt phantasms about his revenant intentions,
Crawling back from her memory;
The way his nosebleed didn't stop him from being delicate asking for her acute spearmint teeth
Bleeding dry without a reluctance to her pyretic craw;
Gapping at his gore like a condemned hound on the waiting row
Relinquishing preservation
As if salvation regressed crescent a bend down death's vestibule
But the moment is but ashen effulgence and burnt tobacco stubs on her nightstand table
The way he left cleaving the lids of that eternal blue ether
( the moonlight crying trice the absence of )
Retiring just_ leaving
but the dying scent of bleak sweetness on cold covers
And one crumpled love in a well written goodbye letter for the leftover-lover putting down this verse
9/5/2023