August 5, 2011

seasons

Never to write of Love again
Feeding its will to multiple
A disease spread across a field of Spring
The nefarious shadows in cold endless night
The tips of the earth on sloth-like rotation
Love is my Winter
Warmed only by a distant moon

Or
The thought of a distant moon

I spread my warm skin out to hide
Beneath the fleshed surface ripples left
The Autumn leaves sponge all the color away
The other side of Summer
Me
I fuck love with glass shards and razor blades
Bleeding some tasteless antivenom
That smells of time
Ticking
Half past loneliness

3 comments:

Reese S. said...

such beautiful imagery!! i feel as if i've stepped into your world, and i'm fascinated.

juca2 said...

Powerful and painful...truth's skin when cut bleeds beauty (your words). This is a hard truth though... / Peter.

Paul Sands said...

Heartbreaking