written by: Emma Wells
Inner consciousness bursts awake:
normally drugged, subdued by daily drudgery;
sleep is hazy like narcotics
dripping with gleeful, gregarious ribbons
as a fickle child with a new dress.
In the strangest wildernesses,
I find you.
Buried in a pocket of my soul
you lie dormant
only rippling at edges
as an uncurled fan
eager to taste the breeze
with papery lips
blessed as tongues in communion.
all lead to you
beyond screaming ‘STOP’ signs
and ‘DANGER – FALLING ROCKS’;
I press on, tunnelling under rocky bracken
tearing jeans and feral flesh
gazing high to your eyrie heaven.
At the summit,
my heart is an oaken door;
I hear its labours
fighting with gales in storms
slamming it shut in tempestuous tides
like rowing lovers cast adrift
both plunging oars for watery escape.
Your face would unravel me;
your eyes see through the fuzz
as neon runners on darkened streets.
I have to retreat. Hide.
I keep burrowing,
focusing downwards at thinking feet
whom know too much
as blind priests at confession;
my rotary beads are vapour
invisibly twisting in lost hands
searching for your anchoring eyes…
Knowing only you can divine me:
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