Nocturne

It floods in manic
notes of a violin,
with the desire to be tasted
in a primal sense—
nothing delicate or refined
or attached to love
but a mad grappling
of flesh

 

falling from dizzying
heights, drowning
in passion, suffocating
                      suffocating fast

                         at speeds
      greater than sound
and light;

 

all of it barking
moaning
obscenities into
the crease of night

 

overlooking who they
want you to be
long enough for

the earth’s under current
to rise up through your back
and steal everything.

 

Aleathia Drehmer

Published by Mighty Mercury