I know nothing of men

Jun 3, 2019 · 1 min read
Photo by Toa Heftiba on Unsplash

What do you know of men
to write them into pieces?

Nothing, nothing but the weight
they drunk each dawning
lifting their spirits above
those charmed head

Nothing, but them riding
stallions without deodorants
perspiring into a dripping ocean
that hair swooshing magnificence
sculpting air

That they don’t sink into their oceans
they dove angels to hell; decisively
As they took the shape of our blood
as if we were never another
our platelets rush to heal us

Nothing but the salt of their
untravelled tears
the smoke their breaths leave behind
living somewhere within my lungs

Nothing but damn their aging gaze
their bitter harmony
their liquid empires
all that demanding affection


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