Nolita

You are my every influence within this quick Nolita morning; a faded rose sky turns my fingertips into crystal caverns that cradle warmth into a secret I can hold in my hand.

Such Wilde fantasies I possess of trapping imperfections within a matted glosse finish, the fat over lean, my canvas is heavy dripping inner monologues into a bell whose song is a nightingale sunrise.

I leave Art in my Mirror, not my Faith, something malleable + easily forgotten within an acrylic cage, no sins carved into sunken cheeks + eyes disappearing through grief, cringed & imprinted behind aching eyelids.

No prayers to parch my lips, un-blushed yet aubergine.

The blood will flow within my veins as oil, heavy + glistening with the faintest smell of turpentine to subdue you absinthine with a kiss, warm + sweet.

Wet as decay.

.24.4.12.