My body and soul detached
from the spine that weaves them
sinks and floats, respectively, with no
direction.

My painful coughing of blood
and exhaustion become my release
in these times of slavery and no
affection.

The washed out violet and
pink rainfall marks the end of a season,
and triggers the ripening of the once
rotten fruit.

This is the fruit that I grow
in vain, that walks on all
four with blood-dimmed iris’
and sour juice. He walks on my
back and bruises my collection of bones.

Heavenly martian fruit take my
soul, take my “I love you” and
make it whole. Let the bliss of
conclusion lick my senses and blind
my possibilities, for I am now your
loyal servant, forever grateful and
willing.

Don’t take it too violently or
too soft, just surprise me with
your grace of opportunity; be it
through bitter serendipity or cloying
cotton happily. Take it nonetheless,
do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.
Take it nonetheless, do not forget.