from my mouth (20170119)

my words are spittle
on rice paper
bleached driftwood carving lines
in the sand

you enter my blood like
like a fever and hollow me out
making flutes of my bones

i pull you close
smell your hair your skin
and still i breathe hot
on the mirror
and run a finger through it

we fall in love with ghosts
and with our ideas of ghosts
and our ideas are ghosts
and our words are their
quick and dead forms

Published by crow

I'm a writer and a dabbler. I live in Washington. View all posts by crow

memadtwo January 20, 20174:11 am

love especially that last stanza (K)
1. crow January 20, 20176:05 am
  
  Thanks very much!
TheFeatheredSleep January 20, 201710:14 am

WOW good grief my friend this is beautiful especially “you enter my blood like
like a fever and hollow me out
making flutes of my bones
1. crow January 20, 201710:19 am
  
  Thank you so much!
  1. TheFeatheredSleep January 20, 201710:29 am
    
    You are so welcome my friend
onecarriage January 21, 201710:15 pm

Wow.
1. crow January 21, 201710:20 pm
  
  Thanks!

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