Bloom

He slit my throat.

 

Scarlet mixed with some southern blue

Trickle down upon my neck of a

Never-ending wound.

I see you

Making me leave me

Into you

 

A phantasm

Of existing

In an un-manifested non-material space

Of an absent presence

Like the sky above the mountains

That comes to me in dilated scents;

With distance,

I’ve learned conjuring.

 

It is a dark art to enjoy a gash

Of uncertainty

And wear it like a necklace,

Tell me,

If that is poetry?

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