Akasha

Akasha

No one wanted to be
a save fiend, stressing
in-between rounds

of this Sciencery,
of utilising sticks,
making sounds

as rough edges hike
the basin of the skin;
colichemarde

sink and twist
and turn creating
little rivers of blood

then condensing into
a shiver-plane;
vanish trust,

a dry tongue, for once
indicated thirst,
not lust.

— A. P.

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