Ventricles

It’s a tan trick, not a hat trick, nerve endings and synapses. I wanted tantric, your energy was vampire the live long day.  Let me smite thee, sweet scented petals and pine trees, hymn notes along a buttery breeze, my life is a green screen…

Honoured Salem spells hanging by single stony threads. Ancestral rites, god and my dead. Lost at sea my captain drowned, my king in spectred madness frowns, and the phone rings, rings, rings…

Out. Phonics over philosophy, black holes for gold orbs, halos over devilled horns, optics within a third sort, annotated molecules bubble in cauldrons where snakes are sought, caught, and of course…

All my love is for nought, poison courses through vernacular thoughts, I’m looking for an anecdote but in your daydream I float, your chaos caresses my soul with ventriloquist quotes, a vocabulary stemming back to scriptured wings, my mind’s eye takes me back to revered cuts and stings…

I haven’t seen this colour on you, an ocean’s hue. Dancing in clustered diamonds, rippling ensues, you drown me in promises for only you, you, you, drink up this nectar brew, your signature sin, you crossed every line and I still let you in…

Whimsy, ancient patterns like morse coded dew, lay my crown down to a quarter crescent moon, my reflection rips into every shadow of you, my medicine, my antidote, flagrant doubts doting on you, and all of the spectrum light reduces and subdues.