Eros Disontinuum., by Samantha Vargas

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

I fed

my body a spread upon the bed,

spreading myself

sensual elastic

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

a decision

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.

-Samantha Vargas

Featured in Vol. 3, Iss.1
Featured in Vol. 3, Iss.1
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