crush these
certain flower petals
the pulp red
hot beneath your fingers
sticky, sweet, spicy
what it touches
it changes
deepening grace
we will ascend like
doves into the heavens
see the down
upon your skin,
once red as sacrifice,
now white as paper
crush these
wings against the
your bed forgotten
hands fading
this new shape
cannot grasp

On Twitter, Kaleidotrope (a specfic lit mag) gave a spam writing prompt. I’ve seen those for months at this point, but never responded, so I decided to write an off-the-cuff poem. This is that poem. I decided to put it up here on PANGRAMMATIKE because it was fun, and I’m moving away from using Twitter.