June 22 by The Running Son
Remember the night the sky tore open
and my flight to the moon was interrupted
by you shining
like some ruptured lining
in the blue universal fusion
between proper timing, and me trying
to see past my no longer useful illusion?
My fuse had struck. The ends spit light
until both wicks went white, and I, stuck
in the desert, my trunk aligned to the sky
and ready for lift-off, would have ignited
if the fire inside you hadn’t struck
my sight blind, my blood pressure high,
and left me leaking seven oceans of desire
from both my eyes.
by Jim Aldrich (:
.namaste. -• ö.tH(ink)Mÿstiç •- .namaste.