Poems from Dizzodin
I don’t know how to speak.
I can open my mouth I can breathe I can twist my tongue into syllables hush my lips to embrace silence bare my...
Love is a stapler without the staples—
I have a million paper hearts and they blush at the precipice of their embrace but the embrace...
Rivulets
running down the side of your lips.
White eyelets
yellowed/fraying at the tips.
Loud starlets
clawing at the rim--one more sip....
Wintry berries
dead at the tips
of snow-sagged branches
red as blood-inked lips.
Wintry oceans
tucked into bed
with the earth beneath it...
You carved me music,
frost/dust/blood to my sewn heart.
Touched, and now swollen.