delilah

you know my excesses / delilah / for the bleeding abscesses / of sunsets strung 

together 

you and I we tasted the soft meat of our virgin hearts / wasted blind drunk in an absinthe state of sex and regret / and I whispered and may even have worshiped you / delilah

 I tried to wash the veins of dead leaves / from my cold feet but they roiled

and uncoiled / and still crossed the border and folded across your clean / parquet floor and 

I suppose 

our limbs mashed in a tarantula pose / we rose and fell and slept in veneration in our clothes

like a dance

in a trance

and still I ask

is if you know that I wish I was as certain of God / as I am of death / and of you /

and who / just this once / is thus subdued under a spill of moon / that traces our bed 

and warms our faces /

delilah

Published by

Steven Baird

Writer, amateur photographer, ad compositor and chicken herder.

13 thoughts on “delilah”

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