to
taste the
minuteness of salt
breaking through a
woman's ripe flesh
is raw sympathy
but repentance
requires
purged insight
take alcohol swabs
to virgin eyes
and let velvet
streams waterfall
in pillow-smothering
morosity
regret consumes
in emberlike
increments
and embers are
swallowed readily
in regret alike
women aren't
made of sugar
and spice and
everything nice
they are born with
embers sewn in
their soft tissues
and designed to
regurgitate
half-digested
sorrows hourly
to prevent
spontaneous
combustion
so don't try to
get me to
shut up
with pathos
you chewed up
and spit out
as an afterthought
i want to cry,
goddammit
YOU ARE READING
CYANIDE DREAMER
Poetrysaturn rises from the valley of my neck and sets in the folds of my hell-drunken veins [ #1 in poetry, 1.25.19 ]