la vie de bohéme ~ {xxvi}

[iii]  
the stars shatter
& exhale their amniotic dust  
as a sigh from the crescent moon ov your mouth;  
your breath [a world] against my lingerie tint'd lips;  
i am a mist ov rosehip,
a nest ov fragile turquoise veins  
anchor'd by your weight at the cradle ov my hips,
a pressing threat ov self-immolation  
 
[ii]  
weighing the worth ov your salt  
in the dimple ov my navel,
a transference ov pearlescent exertion  
thrust upon my skin by your pores.  
 
[i]  
where is the cataclysm, the familiar rushing ferocity  
that brews & burgeons 'neath my ribs until my heart stutters  
crawling into my throat for a reprieve from the oppression;  
i am not bereft without the clamoring