Residents in my head of hawthorn and wool. Fleshly cloudy constellation. You are here as a stellar palette of scars. Does the eternal womb and catacomb divide doorways, when my body is gravel...The fire within my tongue; swool?

 

Curtains of things blatantly unbeheld.

My vision holds your body tonight.

The stone cracked open.

Overtones of nonexistence.

Intangible silk draped between parallels…

I am here; soul without garments. Mending...Unmending a ghastly dress.

Youth, immeasurably poured into poisoned cups the same solidity that withdraws from doors; a silhouette...Come further into foreshadow and translate all the dim lights…

Unstitched upon you the light will shine brightly...Only in time, as you are wise.

 

Tell me the truth. Bare in your flights. A breath tainted until clean.

Through certain corridors.

Through the gate and the fight...

As one withheld from armor.

Speak with me...

 

And, leave me this evening within my garments.

© Mimi Caneda Mata