MADRIGAL AS BABY FEET

IN the depths of thoughts we go as we are in night
of long lists, in the night like a pisces; your slient
silence-sign screams — come // lodge me in your back
\  in your mirror, suddenly, memories, solitary,
nocturnal pane: bleeding from the knife in  the dark
behind you.

  Flower of sweet summer wind
total light bring my calling
upward to your mouth of kisses,
  bleeding from separation
(silent private) words.

  Now, then I breathe your breath
as though we made sex catching our
heartbeats.  It is what the dark night preserves.
  Welcome me, broken hammock in a threadlike evening
when at dusk the sun surprises a sky star eye
within my skull — twinkles filled with win.
  No surprise.  Substance glues my eyes.
Madrigal thoughts inside music — an invitation
what the last breath of Love preserves//inside
a cedar box\ deep substance down to me,
smothering my eyes, your hyperExistence cuts
across me, wondering if my human heart is destroyed.
   Little baby feet patter across the garden of
your Highness \ and an exiled mouth bites the flesh
and the grape, i lick the blood from the cuts of
baby breath:  my hair made of madness and from sun’s
depth — the tick-tock clock face, of systematic
madness.  
              sings the fallen angels:
 
“Madrigal as baby Feet.”

   within a cedar box.

:: 10.20.2020 ::