My eyes died tonight, their lids heavy and dulled, like
teabags soaked and used and forgotten, left to lump in
the bottom of an ill-used mug, as if a sunken corpse lost
In the darkness of vagaries…
Turn me over, make me seek out countries of love,
Continents of passion.
Let’s make a memory. Play with lives past until we detest
Our very confessions.
The tea bags burn. Blister as I drift off into an unconscious
dance of dreams.
Boil me, darken the color of my leaves.
Take me raw.
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