I lied.
And I stole a drop of the sacred water,
let it dance upon my tongue; with wild eyes-- I
dipped my brush in the paint reserved for
priests. And gods.
And me.
Hell is a holy place,
reserved for the sainthood of the world,
and we will drive a stake between the breasts
of the devout, and nail them up proper. Let the rain--
We will lick our tongues in ash and blood,
drench our dreams with earthly memories,
inhaling the fumes of our dearly departed.
YOU ARE READING
Please Don't Touch
PoesíaPlease Don't Touch is my first self-published book of poetry, written and published originally in 2012. #51 in Poetry, 3 June, 2017 #85 in Poetry, 4 June, 2017 #108 in Poetry, 25 May, 2017 #136 in Poetry, 26 May, 2017 #149 in Poetry, 24 May, 2017 #1...
