Bottle (Ekphrasis)
Artwork By Demizu Posuka, one of my favourite illustrators
Jul 21, 2017 · 1 min read
Baby, forgive me.
I woke with the words on tired lips
said perhaps, in transit
from drugged sleep to waking;
with the hope for a soft hand
upon my shoulder.
I choked when I had hoped for speech
and my thoughts had eddied
into serpentine currents;
typhonic waterspouts
that sloshed and shushed myself,
a frothing nonsense that
stole the air from my mouth.
Help me, I think I tried to say.
But I was submerged
in a cold pickling jar.
There was no air, no sound,
no escape.
Baby, never mind.
It’s too late.
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