Misfortune and Fevers

Misfortune and Fevers

written by: Iluvia Triste

 

Go, wrap your skin with
the heat of intense fevers,
let it crawl underneath you
like hands of gods
sprouted from hell grounds.
Never mind the burns,
the itch marks, the
swollen poems for
there are caskets where
you can rest them
into.
There are graveyards
on your bed that your spine
becomes familiar
with, that’s why
never mind
the eulogies that flowers
cried out to the
observant moon on
midnights you were on your
funeral dress, and when
your weary metaphors
were stitched around it
like a disowned stars
from the sky that know
no arms that nurture.
that know no mouth
that softly chants your name.
The earth is cold, it
doesn’t always hand you
the warmth of July
when daisies are lit up
with yellows from the sun,
when your front lawns are cradled
with summer madness, and
sweet afternoon tales
that you can always walk through,
barefooted.
Never mind the earth’s
cold misfortunes carved
on your palms,
there are embers inside
you,
like fevers
that never die
even when rubbed
with lukewarm water
or damp rags,

it’s the heat
your skin seeks
fullness from,

and the only misfortune
is being incapable to feel the
cold.