he’s rain swelling in the mothers open skirts
the starving soup of venom & wings gone gray
medicine in the mouths of the blessed dead
I hear flowers moan
when fingers break their stems like bones
& press into the trickle of their shook loose hair
stirring the yellow heartbeat of the sky
for only one word
one of his
he’s the running light against a sunk
terrain of starry roads
he’s my king of distant oceans;
my watery-eyed snapped arrow
the bulging purr at the begging blood of coastal war
mist into sweat
wet souls, white salt on the upper lip
moist whispers, electric ice, & snakeskin
& one dusty fingerprint of the creator.
words = samantha lucero 2016 ©
image = not mine.
samantha lucero 
“I hear flowers moan
when fingers break their stems like bones”
Me, too. Wonderful poem ❤
i see you speak my language.
Reblogged this on Secret First Draft and commented:
Amazing.
Oh I love this!! Just reblogged 🙂
Reblogged this on The Hero's Inferno.