The torrents which fall from your lips Do―all maladroitly-mimicked sounds—lynch, In the coiling meter of a minute Stolen by golden ether, but still menaced; Such flurries against those faces Bewilderingly complacent Will the chilled impatience Of your words all-the-more hastened As lateral lectures—sanctioned On mattress-muffled implications— Afford breath...
We fashion chemistry with cardamom Paint our organs by rye or rum Though whiskey begs this question: Do you adore me—or are we in love? The windowsill is of colours which Stain our lives via worn and stitched Hearts cut out for pop-up lives The chapters all these months contrive Blueberry smoke kisses the light, Refracting, through which laughter glides Imploring the room to bloom...
Don’t soak your bridges.– B.A.R.
These carbon branches breathe against me
Honey-sunlight impresses the giving tree
Bright as it dances with dark conundrums
Black cherry blossoms, on past my lashes, caravan
Fireflies emulate stresses of tone our lips abandon
Blighted by naught but your own introspections