holy revival

i savor the sublimity of the sunsets

in spite of the inevitability of the shadows of night

watch the witches dance across the folds of my eyes

and strain each muscle in my tongue to taste one last drop of golden glory

my ambrosia / my life force / it doesn’t have to be you

the slick sweat of midsummer, humid hair and frizz and the are we there yet? nap

however laborious and longingly it took to get there, falls like the tide in fleur bay

quickly replaced by the sly kiss of autumn, creeping up until it gulps down

any last memory of you into its shadows

you fell in love with a fever, and fevers do nothing but rage

after the honeymoon, after the dream, you see me as i am

(and you leave)

you once came to me in a vision of lace, strumming your harp with tulips in your hair

lilypads floating me gently atop the june riverbank and into your embrace

i showered violets down your golden locks while we overtook the lake

little clusters of crimson butterflies blushing down your face and it was so warm

it’s still warm now, not balmy like heaven

but stuffy like purgatory

which is better than burning like hell

the thrill is gone and on come the chills

i’ve had it with the chills but your

mouth opens like a venus flytrap, swallowing my lowly life whole

then spitting my sour flesh out onto the mildewy grasses

i ran straight into your dagger but then i ran out

i am still bleeding from your wrath but i didn’t have the nerve to die