Iris And Quicksilver

A poem

I pack on the weight of her long, inky winter

By forenoon, quicksilver shifts my skin

Cool hair triggers the shake of raw

Pining, the irises scatter among a

Bridge of keen bone

Wistful for burial into a deep season

The pelt of cold tales on an ancient tongue

Speaks one morpheme, the spit of red spell in my mouth

MORIBUND, a Leviathan beached in my dry belly

Will not die

But can sleep for so long

In the last nights will she weep at my

Shy extinction

Hold me as god upside down to shake the coins

Made from mimicking her sky in sonnet

Pry open what is left of my worn jaw and chatter any ivory

Gulp all gold effort I staked as claim to her escape in

Language not yet made

When love was just knowing in two sets of eyes

And smiles played fetching music on skins of warm rain