Beauty only plays at night
when lights are dimmed,
perpetuated by lover’s blindfolds
longed for in dreams
rapid eye movement stifled
Lines carved from age
crease the tear’s reservoirs,
clotted nails strewn across flesh
aching for touch to embrace
pity born of the reflection
Virus like it crawls beneath
scurries from left to right,
wields ten knives reaping
the reward, layers of meat
the pleasure endorsed by pain
The sheets are a murder scene
rippled in rustic red,
encrusted to the torso,
limbs like layer cake sliced
freshly fried upon puss pots
With dawn braking I lie tight
motionless and tired,
solitary droplets sit fully formed
atop my bloodied craters
eager for the night.
© 2009 Michaela James.
1 comment:
Love.
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