prairiedaisy

could you bear me out to the edge of doom? would you roam the heights awash in the ether of hope, that which dies last - would you carry me in you, tucked between the other afterthoughts worn smooth by years searching between seas? what of the swash that calls to the wild thundering in my veins, no answering pull of tide to guide the motion of the moon; you reverse causation and so i retrace the way we came but the drift of dunes is the tomb of our unfinished phrases, the diminished haze low on my brow. there is an eighth of aches that play across the slant of my mouth, another treble gliding into a chorus i can’t name from a song played in a thousand hearts but mine

beloved, the devil himself would submit to an eternity in fire just to kiss your eyelids as you sleep; he would look upon the fairness in the shadows of your shuttered face and weep. darling, did my soul consume your heart, did my teeth divine our dead-end future in your entrails? how are you so lovely that you could slake even an incubus' thirst? does he itch you like an unholy ghost, did he break your well when his throat was alight like your flame in my blood? i am ashes, and you are still so yourself - i am empty, so you can pour in to me (humour me, my love; usually you take it so well my desert would melt to quicksand at your feet. you always liked that desperate suction.) would that i were somehow worthy of your barest snarl and cruellest words, a wound for all the ways i ache. oh lover, leave me here so you'll be safe from me, because of me; i am the dirt in your veins, the smoke in your brain. you are my lantern waste, my midwinter crack in the lake. you drown me in

i am a bruise purpling in your undark, undone in a burble of blooms bleeding where the earth opened and spat each petal out; broken teeth woken from sleeping i am a calling you do not follow, i no longer command your intention keeping no score, for what is writ in air retains no shadow, inflames no kindling you and i, there will be no flesh between us, no threshold for sweeping when all that remains of this is the memory of ash in my mouth, and my yearning.

i'll keep you in my mouth where you are a muffled prayer, your hands a rosary or else a noose, my fangs sliding the edge of desire open; i will drink your eyes dry just to put a smile on your face