12:17 a.m.
monday noon —
bedroom parlour
***
i was withering.
even my darling
hunger decided to
scratch my empty
stomach. its anger
i have failed to
satiate — again.
but i lay still on
the floor. limp and
choking onto the
saliva that i have
swallowed.
desperately.
the floors growled
and scurried.
circling my body
like the blankets
i sew from dusk
till dawn. it was alive.
another monster
that swore to
embrace me on
dismal days.
i am drowning.
within its embrace,
it was cold but it
was more comforting
than the warmth
that always abandons.
at least the cold is
more receiving.
the liquid ground
was now devouring
my visage. its
heartbeat leaning
closer — coaxing
me.
welcoming me.
***
YOU ARE READING
Our Vintage Dance on the Phonograph
Poesía"you and - me, we traversed at the eve of the colossal pages of our bedroom balcony." - excerpt there is no other dancing partner i would dance with other than you, my sun. you bring me to places that are wiped out of history - to the gardens of rui...
