bocold

the fire under the weapon dammed up the water, burned the tongue open the wave under the sand let it find way out breath, dive, drown red gums, bloody seed boil eyes, boiled sea sowed sand, lay it waste, splashed sour bitter lime, don't wait stuck time - Bocold, 19-9-19

I could taste his tears that ran like rain on windshield. The kind that searched with longing, for lonely drop after drop, to form a pool of forlorn belonging.

ecstasy was a storm cloud, just before the rain would burst into the night sky, like a thousand aquatic stars.