dust mote serenade


my heart is made of poppy and there is a prism lodged
in my throat. when i speak i make rainbows. a rhombus
of light on a closed eyelid, a dream half-articulated
in a sigh. your eyes are watercolor blue but when they
are next to my yellow skin and red lips they bleed to
brown. a kiss turns to a fractal, a memory to a beam
of sunlight streaming in through the slatted blinds.
i promise you this: find the mote that i sit and wait
upon and all of the tears you have cried will turn
to diamond.

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One Comment

  1. This is a beautiful prose poem. It is filled with beautiful lines and images:
    when i speak i make rainbows. a rhombus
    of light on a closed eyelid, a dream half-articulated
    in a sigh.
    a kiss turns to a fractal, a memory to a beam
    of sunlight streaming in through the slatted blinds.
    This is truly original language.

    Reply

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