Splitting brain bread into grains
a single seed of whey and why-
questions I’ve wanted to answer
like what do your lips taste like?
or how high can I fly?
I’ve been painting my toes across your chest,
a mess of dark chocolate curls
my body a spread upon the bed,
putty melting pity into something orgasmic,
a flower head watering the wines red-
a selection of sweat beads in the Sunday church collection.
I said food was my religion
to feed my soul in need
of a well read friend.
Skipping stones and hearts,
finally settling on a smooth rock, washed over for as long as you’ve existed.
Thinking not so much of the life lost
like scattered watermelon pits in sand drifts
when I bit my nails over personal failures that hadn’t happened yet.
It was a pet, at my heels, painted black.
Sadness hijacked, crash landing in the pit of my stomach.
Breathing deep smoke of clean green,
I see a thin strip of sunlight hugging my hairline.
The end is nigh for the internal grim reapers sowing fields of half used dreamers.
I’m a redeemer of the pen, it’s my sword I swore,
fighting dragons of bored school boys
that are locked from their emotions.
I’m going to start a war against minds bricked over with close minded mortar.
Instead, a revolution of writers and lovers alike,
writing of love and loving to write.
We’ll be hand in hand nomads, exploring the mother land I live to understand.