This Dampness Smells of Nova
She liked to be called coy; careless even,
And in the way of her deepness was a simple
Atrocious one she referred to as papa,
And he was of carefulness… yes.
There was a time I held her palms against
The bed of broken windows and therein
She did give me her flesh and pinks;
They were her perks- below my waste with
A look of mischief; nakedness.
We made prudent efforts to love without
Touch but my hands were real and firm,
And when I promised to keep her safe
I was greeted with a pillar; resistance.
I feel like I am
Existing and being with mortal hands,
And these words pronounce that indeed I am,
At glance of your face in haze,
A human in journey; hear my racing
Thoughts a’ drifting; lest my seeking be
The river of assumptions are ever a’ streaming
And an ale house… vain company keeping;
So I am crossing that imminent shrouding
All throughout the night and silent coursing
The bottomless pit of emptiness;
Lest I fall knee deep.
Alex R. Encomienda