(When Dark Doves Fly competition)
wrested from a flight
I whispered back, each stem’s name
that had fermented in her perfume.
a collapse of my head
upon her nape of morning mist,
where blood had flowered
anabatic musks; guiding me
under a nettled raiment.
…and I shoplifted, scruffed this moment
and placed it into the crosshairs
my on/off switch
as her flushed spine, unzipped
with heavens weight crumbling.
caryatid; from whom each cracked pore
poured red dusted sand
leaking through much too clumsy fingers
in learned helplessness.
I lost her to a finer mosaic.