Closer,
Close enough to mimic a nuclear bomb,
Split me open, let me hold your particles, even just for a moment,
Split me in half,
Closer.
His hair,
Hailing from far off mountains, and greener pastures,
Oh, ashen one,
With the constant curl,
That one little curl,
Neither beard nor head,
Always traces his single freckle.
The only sapling from the forests of his coniferous line.
Closer,
The enemy on the doorstep,
The one lacking decorum (spiting doorbell etiquette) is near.
Near uncaulked wainscoting, and unmudded nail holes,
From the folkish posters years ago,
Those hangings, promising peace in the shape of dumplings, round bellies and soft skin.
Closer.
His delicate ankles,
Standing stiff in the sand.
To push the enemy further.
About the Creator
violet eliza-sioux
this profile will host b-sides and a collection from my untitled series, i will post published links/journals as they come so that you can read the a-sides
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