Theory

He saw
that I had extra limbs
and it made no difference.
What’s another smothering embrace
when it’s raining?
Hours were spent
tangled
in discourse about patterns–
bruising speech left to bloom.

Red is only a theory in dreams,
though I think flying tastes like rust
and landing is optional.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s