(no subject)

[lilywolfsolomon]

You are not your coyfish fears
swimming away, in a dry river bed,
like aquatic Christs performing mirror-image miracles.

Every stone has the blood of some other choice inside -

Maybe I do want to shatter your Self
And over a hairpin mountain pass, three wheels flying,
hear someone smile and not scream -

Look: patience is not my strong suit.
I'm mostly skinned, and constantly dying,
and nothing and no one feel safe anymore
and the most scary is, I'm saying all this, and
I don't know
if you know
what I mean.

But if I were a fisherman
sitting in your ear,
I'd one-by-one catch your coy flicker fears
And place them, gently, into a rolling gorge
where wild horses are remembered

Then maybe you wouldn't need to break yourself,
or turn away, if I cried
over
your hands.

Darling: I'm not going to fight.
The back's too old,
the blood's too bright.
So the way you see it, that's the way it's going to be.

But Lord, you'd sure be beautiful
if, some morning, you didn't regret your weaknesses
if you just asked me,

When the ache fades
I bet
you'll still
be you.