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,
