Pseudopsychosis.

I.
Waiting in your mind,
the stars above
desert my touch
your fingers peel
charred wine;

II.
dissolution I find,
why can’t you be mine?

Against the underbelly
of the shore, dissected around
our entwined,
there is no sanctum
within the stars.
There is no home for you or I
within the stars.

III.
I’m waiting in your mind,
death’s caitiff crackling,
reciting lies.

I stand in the glister
of my reflection

IV.
the ill-fated ocean sings
sepia-soaked

in my mind,
standing as a pylon,
while I squirm in yours;

V.
weaving empty bones,
tree-like and dead,

frozen fingers
pry the moon-wept thorn,
mourning our ghosts,
I still love you.

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