Oblivius

untame me
soft and unfocused
the universe spins and
shrinks around me

I am a giant in this
chromatic aberration yet
I am absent, fragmented light
dancing for stained glass galleries
consume me with your
color fringed eyes

express movement with me
fluorescent intent in each
of our strokes—
flat black paint pulled
across alabaster lips

the air you breathe is
immaculate
milky movement adrift
riding incense wisps,
our world has become bokeh
what are we standing on?

I have found myself: here
at this intersection: now

between aromatic impulsion and
the calmness of your mundanity
it is here we will sink much further

into this down-feather dream

Oblivius: A Gallery

There exists a dissonance when you finally acknowledge that which had previously gone unnoticed. It’s all subconscious consumption and blissful unawareness until you wake up one morning in a bed you’ve woken up in dozens of times before to find yourself someplace new– it is here you find yourself, once oblivious, now in love over again. After being gone so long, it is so strange to suddenly be back.

 

 

 

Pale Love

letting out a soft moan, she
brings chills to my skin
and paralyzes my bones

her icy breath caresses the nape
of my neck, she is nostalgia
dark hair and pale eyes
her lips whisper my name

my nose blushes in shades
of red

my fingertips ache
in shades of blue, I meet her

soft, pale body with the
harshness of mine and
once again, tangled together,
she has come–

my love, December.

La Petite Mort

my lover is arcane
for, he only speaks in tongues
he breathes cold, cadaverous air
to fill my empty lungs

Latin chants
over freshly turned earth
he comes creeping in the night
when not another soul is heard

beneath a new moon sky
and in the howling wind
he quietly stalks
aching to nourish his sins

cemeteries are always silent
for, death brings with him a certain hush
you can barely hear his ghostly moans,
not even the roses blush

my lover is strange
for, he never makes a sound
but the pale look in his eyes
can make my dead heart pound

his voice sends gentle waves into the air
they resonate loud around my head
just long enough to
bring me back from the dead

aural necromantics,
we dance beneath decade-old graves
to the cadence of collecting memories
something my body yearns for and craves

again and again,
he brings me back to life
as our lascivious scene fades
into black and white

and when we are together,
I am but frail bones beneath his grip
there is little else I yearn for as
his bony fingers trace my hips

draped in black lace
between silk coffin sheets
my lover and I breathe
one foot apart and six feet deep

eternally I will lie
here in his stone-cold clutch
he is my graveyard baby,
my skeleton boy crush

 

 

Alibi

You say one thing
with your lips
but your eyes
speak another narrative

they are much more captivating

The air is warm
and heavy
the sky is dark
and ready

I can see you in the storm

What is this desire
to dance
on the line of disaster?

Memory Mines

cemeteries are always silent,
there is a certain hush that
arrives in death

I remember
you through my sense of
sound

the waves in the air
vibrate in my head just
long enough to send me back
to that night with you:

séance.

aural necromancy,
let us dance to the cadence
of collecting memories