Burgundy
you are the misunderstood violence in witnessing the soft rise and fall of a chest, nestled beside a lover who is not your own. you are the streaks of clay deep beneath the ground that childlike hands reach into, sink into, mold to fill the cracks in your worn soul. you are whole. torn sequined lace caught in tree branches, wind stricken and rippling, creating ghostlike figures in the night; you graze through empty bodies and leave them drenched in constellations. heavenly being, you are burgundy droplets of blood that manifest after clutching the thorns of the sweetest rose. words unspoken that drip from veins, pulsing blood whispers — “I’m yours, I belong to no one, I am endless"









