Blood Orange
Autumn moon bloody revolt is unwrapping
the sky orange riot like a motherfucker and
I am swing seat fresh yearning sweet on her
slinging myself senseless into pendulum eye,
ladder, and rope. Come harvest time, I bleed
white noise pooling around two fingers, and
the moon sweltering cool around scream is a
disk in my throat. We steam-train across the
tracks, across the cracks in the rinds of cities
once ancient now dripping fust tripping up
tardy over other eyes burying us dead soaking
wet between jagged rock and fall. I am a body
of sighs beneath you, but everything is February
and pebble-skinned like the muffled moon and
the crisp of your tread is red-hot simmer and
sprawl skimming across a stomach of stone.
Autumn moon bloody revolt is unwrapping
the sky orange riot like a motherfucker and
I am swing seat fresh yearning sweet on her
slinging myself senseless into pendulum eye,
ladder, and rope. Come harvest time, I bleed
white noise pooling around two fingers, and
the moon sweltering cool around scream is a
disk in my throat. We steam-train across the
tracks, across the cracks in the rinds of cities
once ancient now dripping fust tripping up
tardy over other eyes burying us dead soaking
wet between jagged rock and fall. I am a body
of sighs beneath you, but everything is February
and pebble-skinned like the muffled moon and
the crisp of your tread is red-hot simmer and
sprawl skimming across a stomach of stone.