What of the sin that peeled from me in sunburned flesh?
A malignancy dormant in sun scars I wear as a youthful gesture to the age of my soul
A processional of cloaked ghosts, each a fractal of death’s eye, crowd the water’s surface, giving prism to my waterlogged voice
When this ocean swallows back to an overflowing rain barrel, I will reach my hand through the well of thoughts that back-fin my skull {skimming palms on sandpaper prophecy, slicing nail from pulp with clairvoyant scales}…
…and let you drink of the radioactive vibrations, let you lick of my sweat inebriate
feel the mandala morph my core, taste the colors that flavor my lips
~wired strange~
keep your hands lit with the current of my pulse points
E.A. O'Connell
E.A. O'Connell
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