There was a stagger
that shifted my hips,
Oh, how swiftly it shook
the dew from my lips.
There was a danger that
seeped from my skull,
how it dripped on us all,
but it wasn’t your fault.
I think
I think that what I
truly need
is a pair of cold, clammy hands
pressing chilled, deliberate fingertips
upon the blistering mounds
and sweltering creases
of my weathered, fevered brain.
But only
once it has been
shucked like an oyster
from its indifferent shell,
stripped of its casing,
freshly peeled,
detached from its cords,
and laid out,
raw,
glistening,
still steaming on
a freezing metal tray
beneath rows of blinding
fluorescent lights.
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Posted April 17, 2017 at 12:40am
