blood-blue bowman

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.

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5 comments

  1. Private Bad Thoughts · · Reply

    “I hear flowers moan
    when  fingers break their stems like bones”
    Me, too. Wonderful poem ❤

    1. i see you speak my language.

  2. Reblogged this on Secret First Draft and commented:
    Amazing.

  3. Oh I love this!! Just reblogged 🙂

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