Love Nest. Death Bed.

Skimming the dusty silk pedals bound round your head and hair, I found myself petting your eyelids closed with the fine of my fingertips. Paying for sleep with ancestral coins. Needing in the grass and weeded nest we’d formed and weaved. Supple hands that craved and carved simple scratches into headstones of packed sand. Words without context. Meanings without definition. A bountiful bouquet of beached birch bounding bayside basketed beds brought by bird bathed waters. I made a mask of fire to wear when the sun forgot us. I made this mask in the shade. Burning brilliant, as a funeral pyre of will, smoking silent and staining still. A screaming and crackling light of love. The night was without rest in the splinters and ashes of dully painted rowboats as the sea collected our colors. I brought a flask of fire for when our lovers forgot how to talk. I found this flask under your leafy pillow. The initials embossed into its base were stolen. It was not of your name, nor taste. Moving deeper into dark, I rolled my pant legs to the knee and descended into the grid of soft polished sand and water that hummed beneath the black canvas of cackling cosmos. Now waist deep into the cold oceans grasp, I thrusted our bed into the vast static of waves. As I corrected the cast in the cantankerous current, I put on my mask and drank from your stolen flask. I whispered into the flames to spark a dream… Goodnight my love. Don’t forget to tip your bartender.
Joshua Tool- 01/11/13
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