k

Moonshine
that croon of mine
mad and frantic infection, 
a moan that stirs from hurt
toils that strike like weights, pulls at your forehead
skins your knuckles 
it’s irrelevant 
my wants,
your wants.
you weave yourself around me
so I can only perceive light and dark
I scramble to the door
afraid,
sad.
Vocal cords tore
and still drawn like an arrow
I withered into the wall, thought of the little Marlows
we were.
Her sigh, his breath
voices still a flurry of treble
nimble bodies, golden, muddled by vast adoration
jealous oaths to keep truth
childish expenditures to keep sanity
black tea and greens
to keep health.
But takes them the visages of ivory beings
Gaunt with ague,
to pick apart
atom by atom, petal by petal 
the love they strung together—
infallible, dancing, and beautiful.