sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]
sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]
sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]
sun beams [spun into burnt sugar]

Puer Deorum

the smell of cloves like a burnt sugar oudh
mossy hair matted with red earth
from tossing and turning
tumbling and falling
but when it touches your skin everything turns to gold
under your chin,
behind your lobes,
from your knuckles, and your shins
white light pouring in,
sieved and diffused through a pocket of chiffon
playing pinfinger
with blades hop-scotching
through tree branches
their fingers spread out
ready, with veins pulsating
air and water,
a pilgrimage to land

lava underneath the surface of your skin
cause ashes to bleed out
through off white pearls framing your iris
turmeric milk, floating flecks of amber
and probed out by daylight, as it pries open your eyes
interwoven with memories of dew
for these pearls can only be witnessed
from sunrise to sunset
rubbed 3 times with fists of gravel for a phenomenon called luck
semi-precious like a stone

breeze and breath,
too short
to reach my neck, my stomach, my waist
but still my body inflates
in terrestrial times
we cannot meet within the map of contrails
or the skyscape of clouds
but flutter in hypnagogia
the transitional state
between wakefulness
and sleep
the mind tries dancing, tied
strictly to the beat of the heart
but stays humbly devoted to defy time and space
through and through

running barefoot up a mountain
we aren’t afraid to slip
because we know falling and tumbling so well
with our limbs knotted with ivy
tied together by a string of hearts
and pulled apart
by a string of pearls
and memories of dew