MAUDLIN MAWS▪︎Poetry (3)

59. Upon the spells I sleep

I sketched upon the bleak convas of my frayed transfixion
A man I named husband with the faithful tie of a vow taken on an altar
and I pictured a grey creature on the lacuna of his lap; incubating_
All dew and ripe tendons of saffron aureole
That had a brooch made of senew palming her hairdo
She beared my resemblance_
A woman with the ellipse of my riven hips, my phlegmatic mien that bent the alcove of his body_
Almost from the dorsal slant, the facet of her cheekbone is of natural blush; a glad of salmon rasping calescence to him
and it is all natural even when my eyes too dry filled with the haggard pealing of the ceiling
Even when I wasn't soaking like a mint leaf on his pleaded, teacup knees
But engulfing on the mattress;
bones and teeth and nails to the sheets that shroud onto my tiffany neck
Sleep still clinging to the ringles I peeped with hoping this too wouldn't be a simple loll of my lucidity

31/8/2023