Melting ice in my stomach and dying flame in my mouth.
Would that the misting warmth could excise my heart:
So unsteady, half glass and half stone
It sometimes seems…
Hunger and sickness, some vive la revolution
Cry stirs within me, but no kingsbanner
Rallies to any causal center.
Empty-handed and too-full-hearted,
I dream with bloodshot open eyes;
Watch me sleep, and raise a cup of unsweetened cocoa
To the moon that dreamed he loves me.
Even the child, growing like a flytrap
From my cardiac arteries
Thinks the woman in me, wherever she may be,
A demon of the reddest kind.
Distance yawns with me.
Pity chuffs grotesquely at my shoulder.
Sunbleached eyes see lies;
Truth seems a dull stylus tonight.
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