Inhale the disfigured stains

I am creating spills.

Dig floorboards into canvases and leak brain juice.

That tree is a rorschach.

I see decomposed childhood. I see sexual intercourse. I see salted kneecaps. I see an orgy of bones.

What hides deep inside the blot of jawline?

Oh blemish.
Oh spot of bloody Malbec, curled into ceramic mug.
Color of her hips, all camouflaged and curvy.

Blackened hippocampus discredits memory.

Taste where it is darkest. Notice how your mouth responds.

Place fingernail between teeth and bite off a crescent of keratin. Use as a weapon to wipe away or wreck the stain. Write what it becomes.

Or.

Place moon-sliver-fibrous-hangnail and replace as genitalia. Rename gender as phalangeal. There are no colors attached to this one. No designated toys or career paths. Bask in relaxed prescriptions.

I take a puff of blue in my lungs. There is a choke of winter here. There is a collapse of worried contagion.

How many shades of sky hide against your wrist, which weeps daily?

You are only disfigured because you gave away your love like sneezes, uncontrollable body urges.

Listen. The reputation of a stain is persistent. What is the sound of its echo? It haunts your eardrums. It’s out of tune and it hums. Write it’s music.

I’ll sing a little louder in your ear because you’ve requested my top 40 melody. I thought I was screaming, but it was just the sound of my footsteps scraping.

Look up, will you? High above is where the kites go. Where bodies hang. Where birds nap and bugs hide from the researchers looking for a discovery. I’m heading there. Leave your kiss on my right ankle or behind my thigh and you can head there too.