Weeds grow where they want to; not where they're told to grow...

erbacce-press

Maria Gornell

Melt

I cannot stop answering to his eyes
though they remain a black ocean;
a gloom of ice unpreventable freeze.

I commit to madness till they melt
follow the hollow blue-black edge
paint the esoteric shapes into fire
flies that burn and burn to want
of flight.

Till his body ignites
into spontaneous human combustion
risen like phoenix
his ash reborn quench

for a shady green path led

Following my smile(s) chant
laid blissfully adored in spaces
of psyche.

I cannot stop answering to the memories
sometimes sparked with a single word.
how music and breath dilate his pupils
causing a relapse into ancient quest.

When I awaken with his lashes in my hair
with the flicker of a brief moment
a second when our eyes met and
danced to the music of universe.

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