Your Sisyphean scripture are bonded to my skin, but How many turns of your wicker wand have you played along the lines of my hand? The Great Collapse and Fall of Giants. Telephone pole crosses to mark our passing, as we cry murder for our not-kin. Tenuousness is a mind state
Author: Torrey
Bird Eyes
This light of heat and change is something I cannot justify. Wax wings and tied ankles. A Daybreak Coronet so bright and full, I’ve blinded myself.
Croak
We have opened soil again. Ridden down a horror of our own making- but we have broken it. Our flowered cries and wet faces looked up at the moon one too many times. Silken boxes holding poured promises and heavy lies
Bite
You look down and Push your hair away- Like my words. You don’t need my voice anymore. Bite marks line my neck from All your uttered icicle threats. Glittering golden skin And valyrian doom.
Towers
Mixed in with dirt and spit, I made mortar from the mix. Build these castle walls a little higher and keep myself from falling out. — Spitting divinity upon Mans tongue, losing yourself on the thought, not savouring the taste of power. This is the price we pay, toiling in gardens we don’t own. It…
Kintsugi
Mustard seed and adders tongue an empty crown and displaced lungs We can boil and thrash, as you like, this mess of thoughts won’t dissolve. Don’t forget that what’s to come hasn’t come yet Coil around, and I’ll do the same. Wings, black as sin, and Scales glinting away.
Deny
Gossamer between our lies- as we coil around each other. Do they make you happy? Falling against me, I feel you slipping down down into the place that we joke about in between missed eye contact. grab the soil and let it fall in patterns you can never know
Remake
Wrap your hands around my heart again. Letting me sleep, feeling me go. Forgetting to love you And you for -get -ting to love me back. Cross our streams, mix the rocks. We can tumble against ourselves over again. Speak, break love, remake the crumbling and collapsing- This has always been our toil
saved
Do you recall the first time that you showed me a piece of that turmoil- when we stood in grass and waited for the wind to stop, at borrowed apartments, with less sleep than I care to admit I cannot pretend I will fall into the trap again. My legs have been broken too many…
Customary
The bird that spoke the apple’s truth feared no mortal. This too will close. — Sit muttering your hardest truths, but only to yourself. what have you deigned today to be but another waste. stew yourself with the bones of tomorrow again- strike from them the last vestiges of flavour. —- He had sat with…