wipe at the walls of my home
recovering from disordered silk
a saddened wreath day
with the congealing salts.
Come with me to the loss of life of belts
using its tremulous create
This windy warmth of the body and carrying serenity condemns me
with it’s sanguine wells like heart and brow
and dark waves like brow and roses
I’d like you to light in my hand
amid the opaque streak of the lightning.
The Blogging of Marchelle 975 