Wednesday, October 4, 2017

angels

dip me in the nectar of acorns
dusted with azure & green
pressed against night
do that
ten thousand times
and
return me home
to
you

dress me a gypsy who talks to ghosts
on every third tuesday
crimson--swirly & electric
pulsing
honey-dancing
absorbing words like apricot candies
left out as a temptation to delight
while outside it rains
cats & dogs & sorrow

my slip is made of perfume & tobacco
regal leafed
and
empty of self

talk to me of your dreams
walking alone in alleys as bullets zip too close to call it a win
talk to me ....

and I will listen 

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