mien

Sight orange in the light of everything
Economic white walls drying and hardening
Totems built around the home of the homeless
The answers with their shadows and the
Individuals with their dolls
But I wake up next to you
And think that beauty isn’t just
A word we say.

In the infirm sky
the winds chased down
certain birds slated to die
In the midst of storms
Flew the angel of thorns
who shed its swords into
The edge of people’s words
And now our peers outline
Blades with the forks of their tongues.

But the lyrics rise
In the tired buildings
Of our breasts
And the light still slides
Down the sequined
Curvature of your dress
Rent me a language
For the vespers of the moon
Buy me a lighter
to burn up this paper room
And we’ll lease it’s pleasing fire
With warm smoke as our perfume.