i hope you forgive this silence;
sometimes i forget
absence is a mothertongue
not everyone is native to.
my mother has taught me to be a polyglot
swingroping between ablation & bloom
& still, i remain a tourist to every mirage
in this chimeric pageantry —
perhaps, we should flesh a seance,
invoke siken so that “we’re inconsolable”,
“possessed by light”, an ultraviolet haemorrhage;
unfurl ourselves like your flowers do.
tonight, though, i splice the stalk
i tender myself,
riverbed into the goose-fleshed precursor
to self-anatomisation —
until now, i have only embodied
the phantom limb of want,
intangible; resolute. yet,
for the coming year, i skin myself undeniable.
to answer your query: indubitably,
in the past i have learnt that to be glutted with light is
enough. but the future shall discipline us on replenishment,
on how radiance liquefies, magnifies into each relinquished abyss,
tomorrow, i froth against the ebb of the tide,
spill into every warmth, every kindness,
every reprieve as rhyzomatic,
flung outwards, into the kohl-winged siren calls of a terpsichorean moon,
tell me, what does she whisper to you?
yours,
for @avolitorial in response to this, as part of the @letterpoems project! Happy New Year🧡!
