sepulchral manuevers
beneath
the distilled desire
laid carefully like floorboards
upon
the matrimonial suite dreams
languishing
in the ebon tides
of woe.

a diamond
a thorn
a droplet of crimson
on the freshly fallen
ash of winter’s lamented
beguile.

it was in her laughter i heard the call of ravens, in the cinnamon that clung to her hair i willfully ingested my own demise

she sang to me from bloody lips, a call to the reef, her vestige the sandbar beneath the frothing sea of tranquil conspiracy

in one
fatalistic expression
of lackadaisical play
the nightingale floor
on which she
crept
gave grave notice
that the lush
cherry blossoms
were no more than
scabs
fallen from rapture.

in
the barest sliver
of silvery moonlight
a diamond
a thorn
a shimmer of truth
in a volcanic
disambiguation.