YOUR SONGS SPREAD LACHRYMOSE

Your songs spread lachrymose.
Tears are what I shed the most.
Your hot blood in the radiator
–she, the fountain in the temple,
your moderator.

I told you I could not stand more
than a gram of your chemical at night.
You called me a hypocrite.
You fled to her side.

Licorice stains your fingernails.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s