waxing summertime
the summer began waxing
with a long-awaited crescent moon
and as june marched on
it pooled around the burning wick;
and so, i drip three drops of the holy water
onto your chest, anointed skin
telling the bones the story of what it has experienced
as the flame flickers in the eyes
the bound wrists,
twisted up puppet of my own emotions,
giving the anaemic veins
a blooming vibrancy
that the flowers envy
black and red ephemera
followed by tobacco-stained vignettes
within the window of slanting sunlight
stained fingers caressing
extensions of themselves
that they can’t help but adore
the gibbous arises to remind me
of the passage of time
where moments felt infinite
their inevitable movement
makes them too precious to hold —
these hands only melt
things too holy for mortal bodies
and so i feed them to you,
dissolve them on your heavenly tongue
and taste them for myself
