8.26.2013

On the Fritz





A world in which my tongue falls silent,
a dead and heavy lifeless thing,
and in its place there is the sudden brilliance
of your animated carapace
shining through with light from God’s hands.

Glittering scarab beetles tumble
from your rough-hewn lips of jewel,
until the hues resaturate themselves
and the night gives its belongings back.

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