Thursday, 30 August 2012


The scars on your face spoke to me
Your hands, the most distressed leather, still steely strong
The weight of age has never broken and rarely even bowed you
A mother of light
Shuffling your dominion,
One pace this way creating a feasting table
One brushed gesture this, shaping a worshipping place
The honeycomb sacrament sucked dry
Coats every surface
A vehicle for that sweet sentiment
That we don’t share the words for
And I’d never finish it all but I carried it as far I could
Worker corpses and all, in a powdered milk tin
To a hotel bed where fever took me
And my departure began,
A parting meeting with a boy called Smoke
And a thousand things that I’ll never know
The structure of stories etched into your skin
A parchment legacy, a living lineage
Matching the radiant youth,
Hope for Hope, Smile for Smile
Balanced in equal beauty whilst I float between
And slowly drift away
A thin line connected to your fates barely holding
Growing colder, more strictly defined
And somehow brighter, I outline designs
To make it shine, embellished
But that which connects also separates
And touch can’t always match taste
So I hold a honeycomb memory underneath my tongue
Growing sweeter as every line marks my face,

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