Esoteric expressions

slip through her red lips,

stripping wrist’s stitches,

bruising downcast scars,

opening decisive nerves

to her cracked spine,

shattered with the desires

of the flesh, broken inside.

The city my tongue burned

with a belated engagement

melted the callousness

we’d sought to defeat.

Our vain hearts lusted

for us tangled in

bedsheets.

The horizon integrates

the rage of an orange array

that fades to shadows,

slipping beneath us as we collapse,

into the arms of the other.

A beaming grin washed over her face.

I’ll hold on to the ring for another day,

for a day when things aren’t as perfect

as they are this autumn day.

If you can’t love me at my worst,

you won’t enjoy the best of me.

By Andy Cooper

From: United States