~the seasons of me
x. autumn
maybe I have an illness
a disease
the falling away of
my flesh
too many bright colors
of ache
& bones stripped
by vultures
until all that remains is
the marrow
x. winter
consider it a method
of exposure
a glimpse of me
naked
bare
sleeves of ice
but living like a winter
without snow
the cold distance
between breaths
fogs the view
to warm myself
with whiskey
doesn't melt the
core
it only sweats against
the glass shell
& puddles beneath
x. spring
perhaps I'm delightful ruins
in a dark room
or the intimacy of
thin clouds as they come
together
our intercourse of rain
pounds the ground
to plant seeds of indifference
among peonies
& how the friction
of ghosts emerge
from the trees
x. summer
maybe my hands have become
the tremble of a butterfly
searching for a safe
spot to land
one still perfect flower
an invitation to drink
sweet nectar
to become intoxicated
to quiver for a moment
& soar on alone
lah 6.8.12 ©®
Header overlay image is me. :)