by hiraeth   May 26, 2021

how cruel of april? to barge in with anger in her chest,
and you’re still there in the morning.
with light, i almost think of april as a secret lover,
i said her absence is no longer a shadow.
maybe, you and the sun were one in the same.

we are an ouroboros,
redden earth, fertilized with your blood.

i ask too much of you –
it’s true, i wrongly thought of your clavicles as home.

you reside softly between pink clouds,
this is vulnerability at its peak;
the words escape me.

i only see you,
lamenting the dying of light –
i do not know how to balm this storm.

you are laden with light –
you put on a show as you
could’ve formed me in any likeness.
i am profound in your palms only.

you smell of poetry again -
you once said you were convinced
i can neatly categorize my life before-you,
maybe that’s why all my words beat
a steady trail everywhere i go.

all i know, with any certainty –
you trample me with your soft fingers.

in a different mirror,
you are like the stirring waters of the sea –
you embody love like no one can.


another cento poem using the poems i've posted throughout may on here, which were written during napowrimo.


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