Friday, 9 June 2017
Love I whispered, come and find me
I write for secrets to glimmer like icicle chandeliers , spilling loose threads of sanity weaving shame. Ss humans we are so duplicitous to ourselves, telling sweet marshmallow white lies that loose the teeth and potentially cement the jaw. Self this is a letter to you, a squiggle from the heart whence once we were soldiers, once there were troops of people who worshipped our trumpet existence now there is void because selves are quiet. Why do we do what we do? Jezebel, Icarus stumbling from grace, did you taste the blood on the kaleidoscope lens or did it stutter like ink across the ledge. And how we wept for love beneath the moon tide, angry that the world couldn't see our swollen eyes, fed up that the snot which knotted our nostrils dangled like Egyptian beads. I wept for love I couldn't find , and then when it found me, it broke me, a caricature mounting me in forestry then disappearing for months. I was desert then, lapping little more than jigsaws of pools. Love I whispered, come and find me.