UNTITLED

Photo by Markus Spiske on Unsplash

You must be paradise.
Must be moonlight trapped in water,
must be the center of a world swathed in spring.

The drowned man dreams of an empty
sky, of the morning swelling in the east
and I dream of you

becoming honey and blood lining my teeth,
the last wound I silence forever. It is not divine,
this affection, nor steeped in a vat of light.

It is fragments of an inner scream
sprouting wings to the night.

I was made in unequal parts.
Part blue sky, part spiral puckered creek.
Weather me, love me, turn me into a

decade of need, a flower solemnly bent
under quiet morning rain.