And so I rub my mind
Warm, sharp against your icicle chest.
Unfurling that trace of frozen lava.
I am no winter tree even.
I am frozen, more than you.
More than the dew.
Like holding time and swallowing it,
With butter in the pharynx.
I do it for you.
I have always done it for you,
Clenching shaded, half baked sun.
Consiliencing, pulverized atoms.
I will fall too, with burning lamps
Burning wax left
Pens broken, curtains morbid.
I will sink,
I will still do it for you.
I have always done it for you.
Devika Mathur blogs at My Valiant Soul