OR alternatively: Does it still count if I cheat with the Haibun form? (Asking for a friend).
I’m not intoxicated, I’m nursing her desecration; I trap the rain outside my hands,
gently crying into the matrix-hum of flowers [flowing in my head]
I can’t think about it, with quiet, I trace my scar below white-sparrows;
moon erasure of the past to the lost haze of a goddess within an estuary
[my tears whittled], I shake my limbs to ease restlessness; dopamine is an old thief, asking who I am, petting, starving leaving no taste of celebration
when beckoned as lace of virus
watch me leave in trials
with broken sobs, incising morning air
and night’s aropax, I’m not intoxicated just sad and debilitated; you more so,
I know, variegated in singes; touches of her neck and wrist, contused
in no promises, only the sprawl of remembrance gets darker
with inviting-minds, a feed of otherness,
over mania-lived, relative
alone; just don’t leave me—don’t leave me in grief.
© 2022 Pseudopsychosis All Rights Reserved.
Written for the 01/03/2022 Haibun Monday at dVerse, pertaining to anything about celebrations and feelings of the holidays.
Sort of a sequel to my Letting Eve in poem.