I dreamed of Frida Kahlo
yo era ella amante
pure, paupered prince to her primal queen
yet still I hollowed a carnal niche into the midst
of one perdurable, lurid noche de los muertos
where I fingered the lachrymose from her lacerations
and counted prurient time in a piercing nine of
perennial persecution then wore her pelt
to lay me down in her sanguinary glow
No comments:
Post a Comment