There’s a body shaped hole in the mattress beside me
I fill it with
Moss
Tethered by sweat
Casting caterpillar
Vomit—
Laced between threads
Your butterfly vacancy
A cocoon for the dead
Patter pattern
My dewy footsteps tread
In and out
The screen door
Swish swish
I collect
A jar of tourists
And dump it on the bed
Soon
A spider builds his web—
From your head
To your toes
Across your mouth
And your nose
Through the folds
A tiny cricket chatters
The spider rears
On his hind legs
What a circus!
We shall be
My new friends—
My company
Who needs you?
To settle deeds?
To ride horses,
Count beads?
Weave through hurricanes,
Cradle thieves?
I have a forest now
To fill my needs.
About the Creator
Bride of Sound
I explore themes of altered perception, distortion of the body, and dysfunctional romance. Sometimes chaotic, attempting to control.
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