Yearn
Intangible as heat hazes,
That chitinous instinct hangs about as a stray hair across shoulder,
A brief flash of attention as I move.
A schematic scrawled in soil rich with rot;
Ruinous in turns,
As turns of cheeks or phrases.
Tamp it down with seeds and pray for flowers after rain.
2 thoughts on "Yearn"
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I love how this poem is so visceral yet leans into abstraction. I would love to hear this read aloud.
I love that “ruinous in turns/As turns of cheeks or phrases”