You pull the cards apart, heart over spade
over lovers over death. Twist the fortune till the magician smiles and the high
priestess uncurls her hand from around your heart.
the water in the bowl turns silver in the
Moonlight and the shapes within take root inside your chest and sprout into a flower.
into a tree that stretches from toes to skies.
all the lovers in all the decks are laughing at you now; kiss him quick before they decide to stab eachothers throats and the blood pools at your ankles until you feel like you're drowning from the weight of everyone else's choices.
Play the fool; he's a better card than you think
and he knows better how to breathe.
Spin the deck until the cards crumble into ashes, and all the woods in your soul are silent for once.
Death over lovers over diamonds over clubs
and still the cards can never speak to what is impressed on your hands. death has the lovers and the lovers have death.
YOU ARE READING
James.
Poetry"you are a work of art, not everyone will understand you. but the one's who do, will never forget about you."
