Probably not as funny as I think I am
Insta @chloe_j_writes
Too much water, or too little air means no flame for your searching hands.
By Chloë J.3 years ago in Poets
You liked to paint small flames on your nails, so I did too, on your coffin.
lapping, tentative, waves caress the waiting shore, in soothing answer.
water burial. deceptively lovely, if you forget the sharks.
Sea-held sepulchre, soothe the ghost’s lament, mourning in waves a life lost.
Whisper, howl, croon, scream. Harsh melody, harmony mine; with me, make song.
When the rain falls, are they long-ago tears from a grief-stricken ocean?
My heart must be an ocean, for it churns in me; salt leaks from my eyes.
My tongue is molten. It sets little fires when it feels at all threatened.
womb of rock and soil, what terrors will you birth from your molten center?
Burn the paper, send it high into the star-flecked heavens, fragmented. // Breathe ash onto the mist-and-brine-borne winds, unclench
Currents of water, currents of air, wend as one to the world’s cold edge.
