The eye has not yet reached us—
I still smell
hunger in your verbs.
thirsting for a noun,
your lips a violent hour
among this prose-spun path.
my flesh became your canvas,
escape for your violet ink.
on edges, thirsty stains
from a cavernous mind,
a false penumbra, for you hide.
the eye has not yet reached us—
but droplets have begun to fall
here I stand, flesh-soaked and exposed
a gnosis bestowing freedom–you’ll never know.
Today is Day 1 of OctPoWriMo join me, 31 poems in 31 days. Do you dabble in word play as well? Let’s create 31 in 31!
Love and Ink,