the perfect marriage

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i’ve evolved from spitfoam into hearth-iron ribs
trapped between septic fingers and lost doors.

one gummy eye used to be the rasp moon,
the other a varnished cloud.

i’ve created ants and snow in a womb
for licking, cloying death.

for freezing, for festering age,
years. rafts of web on web.

i scream in a locked room.
where only i am dreaming of being me.

to accumulate in wrinkles that are parenthesis
around your matchwood mouth or baby horns between
the swale of brow-felt.

the hole that gullets its teeth.


 

samantha lucero 2017 ©

24 thoughts on “the perfect marriage

  1. Oh I love the image/idea of everything that comes out the mouth is in parenthesis, not imperative, could be ignored. I’ve missed your writing, hope the editing is coming along well.

    1. You know… the way you put it shows that you really get it. I’ve reached the right mind.

      I’ve finished first edit, and now I’m on the second. Lol. 800 years. Although, I’m leaning toward self-publishing it, since agents are mostly not looking for the type of book I wrote. They all look for genre specific. Lots of middle grade and romance… not my thing.

  2. I warm to the idea of wrinkles as parenthetical statements, and age as a three-foot spider, which spins around us a tack of silk while we sleep. Sound imagery. Provocative. I transmit my approval.

  3. Poor choice of words on my part. I apologize. What I mean and what I say don’t always align. Fantastic writing, though. Really.

      1. On damp, gloomy days, I read sarcasm where there is none. Approval reinstated.

  4. Wow, this just yells to be recited. So I do. And my potted plant shifted a bit like he knew something great was in the air. ❤️

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