Within Sight of the Bloom

 

calamity is the whisper of a heart 

still throbbing after all these many forgotten years 

precarious, you might say 

thinking of cavities 

the sweetest being

the wettest 

my monsoon thoughts elapse across perimeters 

kinda like kissing a kat and the consequences thereof 

what is right is whatever it is we ever do 

I sing with the slightest voice so 

you might not hear it 

unless you lean into the breadth of it 

and the whole sense of it 

close enough to inhale 

its slightly putrid breath 

ecr. l'inf.