be careful what you say.

I believe in overflowing
chalice.  you believe in
holding space for snarl
with distance and
your lover at night
or your girlfriend,
whomever.
it’s up to you to name them.

you watch me lay the
dill in bowl, line the bed
with tourmaline.
run the bath with
chamomile and yarrow oil.
it’s all for nothing.
you found me but
I am full of tincture now.
the best defense is
to cripple yourself
like victim, spiny
with a shaky lip
but spiked and
squared right towards
them.

what you catch about me
is the amorphous not
the steady heartbeat on your
ear, at night, and here
and to be fastidious requires
no real feeling
but constant poking at
all possibilities,
pausing with the probable
but still lusting.
almost thirsty for your
deluded thoughts,
your diluted candor
that you say is grace
but you have bitten even more
of your tongue today,
and you are now piked
and squared in another princess’
face.  what you meant
to say was
be careful what you say.

 
there are some voids
that
are so insatiable you
collapse with the
craving instead.
I walk for miles:
slow and black and
hungry like that,
a hole and
reaching.
waiting for the echo.

I am game.

“Datura Moon”