how uneven
a habit with roots
even when upturned
and yanked fiercer than a scalp sash,
persists. It knows no other way.
how odd this taiga heart
pumps sea scales
so far from a country
newfound.
home
is where your ruby rash, my rosy lips
redden a tri-lunar night.
your cult, my arms greening
curve like weed maidens drowned
but not forgotten.
No comments:
Post a Comment