dirty-milk - Tumblr blog

[dirty-milk]

I’ve got a head full of ashes,

and I’m coughing out the cinder;

the phantom fire raged

with ghosts as the tinder.

Is this a party,

or cosmic doom?

Is this a body,

or a panic room?

I’ve got hands full of starlight,

and it’s slipping out my palms;

the celestial glow,

lost and found only in psalms.

Is this an abyss,

or a playground?

Is this a kingdom,

or a god drowned?

[dirty-milk]

I love you with my liver,

litter the livid -

viscid and vivid;

I love you with my lungs.

luck-lust lunatics

lacking labor limits -

I love you with my lips,

lisping though the lines

minding the mad minutes.

With my kidneys -

kissing chaos crossed with karma.

I love you with my appendix

and we don’t really know what was for even

but it’s yours.

Yours;

every ventricle vibrating,

every atrium aspirating;

heart holy

sung slowly.

[dirty-milk]

Spectral symphony

suffers the surrender of the savage;

do you feel the riot receding,

paved for a pale passage?

The war drum beat of

your heart abates, misstates

the melody as misery of memento mori;

glissando grieving given

grace and goddamn glory.

[dirty-milk]

Hey... you haven't posted for a little while? I hope everything is ok!

You’re a flippin sweetie pie, am completely okay just the words stopped I guess. Happens. They’ll come back some day :)

[dirty-milk]

i. Loving you was like blooms

finding their way to the

light source through every

crack in my being,

like crystal caverns erupting

in the void so sharp,

so jagged, and I could have sworn

I’d see you on the other side

but now I’m here and you’re nowhere to be found.

ii. Hating you was like a fever

ripping through my body,

searing every inch of me and

razing it to ash -

I was a pile on the pyre

for ages until the stress

compressed enough to make me a

brand new treasure.

iii. Missing you was like

gravity won the war;

with its heaviness,

with its stubborn grace,

with its solemnity…

and the clawing,

and the clawing,

and the clawing.

[dirty-milk]

Let me find out what the star burst is made of;

what sings shadows in the shade, love,

let me find out what color love is, dove.

Find the shape of god in your silhouette;

let me tender the torment of threat,

strangle sleep supine a striking sunset.

Let me hold my hunger for your halo;

grace my grave and gentle my glow,

let me bridge my bliss and bellow it below.

Ache in me my ashes asleep at the altar;

let me honor haste and humor holy halter,

frozen fallout to let the faith falter.

[dirty-milk]

Some days I want the jagged, give me a serrated summer sharper than the edges of the echos in your heart.

Some days I want the tender, give me a mellow magic softer than the curve of the crescent dancing on your lips.

Some days I want the fracture, give me a fractal format broken into pieces that don’t fit, give me a puzzle piece pushing passion instead of poetic peace.

Some days I want delicate, but give me daisies draped in daggers, open your mouth for the knife fight and cut me open like a thousand petals blooming on my skin, slice me exposed bleeding flowers from my grin.

[dirty-milk]

You’ve got a voice like a volcano

and a maw like a moonbeam,

your hands hunger for a halcyon,

drape their digits in a day dream.

…and in your heart, tiny avalanches,

burying everything below it.

…and in your lungs, tiny branches,

shading everything below it.

I could build a home inside your bones;

carve little windows with little shutters,

little streets with little gutters,

little leaves in little clutters.

I could build a base in your blood;

ride your pulse like waves when it quickens,

waiting for the dopamine to kick in,

surfs up for the panic-stricken.

[dirty-milk]

i. …and I grieve in the mouth of madness, coiled like a serpent on its tail - I thrash, and I gnash, and I inhale, and I exhale, and I wail.

ii. …and in the maw of the mania, the circle takes the square; paradox prompting paradise poisoned by the prayer.

iii. …and in my cheeks cradle chaos, counters the crooked crescent, smoking a smile - dancing in the dusk of descent.

iv. enough.

v. my teeth taste the torch; my spit savors the scorch - my tongue toasts the tender, my throat tempers the tremors.

vi. my jaws are broken from chewing the cracked carousel, drinking up the dust and dancing to the death knell. who dreams of the damned deploying a dispel?

vii. the dead don’t want you, the fallen have you forfeit - outbid the outrage and send it into orbit: sing the splinters split and spit. who yields youth, yawning years beyond the yesterday?

[dirty-milk]

I’ve got a head full of ashes,

and I’m coughing out the cinder;

the phantom fire raged

with ghosts as the tinder.

Is this a party,

or cosmic doom?

Is this a body,

or a panic room?

I’ve got hands full of starlight,

and it’s slipping out my palms;

the celestial glow,

lost and found only in psalms.

Is this an abyss,

or a playground?

Is this a kingdom,

or a god drowned?

[dirty-milk]

Where your lips are wrapped

Your tongue is trapped between me

You are ecstasy

[dirty-milk]

It’s hard to not love me,

I’ll make you feel good about yourself.

My mirror skin will reflect

the best parts of you and

in the house party of my body

you’ll be the life of every room.

[dirty-milk]

[dirty-milk]

Snarling and invasive, you choke me like a hyacinth. Honeysuckle baby, let me breathe. Let me climb higher on the trellis so I might consider myself free. I cough on the thistle and break on the morning glory missile but still I limber up the lattice.

[dirty-milk]

i. Loving you was like blooms

finding their way to the

light source through every

crack in my being,

like crystal caverns erupting

in the void so sharp,

so jagged, and I could have sworn

I’d see you on the other side

but now I’m here and you’re nowhere to be found.

ii. Hating you was like a fever

ripping through my body,

searing every inch of me and

razing it to ash -

I was a pile on the pyre

for ages until the stress

compressed enough to make me a

brand new treasure.

iii. Missing you was like

gravity won the war;

with its heaviness,

with its stubborn grace,

with its solemnity…

and the clawing,

and the clawing,

and the clawing.

[dirty-milk]

Citrine skyline

slicing up the silhouette,

tangerine dream

taking time to turn around the threat.

Marmalade thunder rolling

off the tongue,

phoenix fever

ripping fire through the lung.

Copper smiles, snarling,

soaking up the sweat,

honey halo highways

hanging by the sunset.

[dirty-milk]

Here I am

chasing ghosts again,

an echo of a

“back when” -

dissolve into the

“back then” -

count backwards from ten.

Here I am

condensing my synapses,

cutting the length

where mnemonia collapses;

cutting the strength

where memory elapses;

watch as time relapses.