verbal astheticist

i am the verbal astheticist

annoyed by those who ignore hypervigilance,

those who are unaware of

subway-corner religion

 

i m learning that my loving means

fucking with the system,

it means bathing in resistance,

it means trial-by-error persistance

 

i am the verbal astheticist

 

and you are caught in subtle images

less like mona lisa and 

more like a roughly shaken polaroid

 

you are a hot swig of gin

on a cold friday night

 

you are a broken blade of glass,

filtered window pane light

 

you make my words scream bloody murder,

and when i choke on the syllables

between your chin and your chest

you say

'babe, that's not how we swallow love,

that's not how a heart knows how to rest

 

and i'll use grammar like

lavendar shea butter lotion

on dry skin

 

and i'll listen for syntax

like the last roaring moans

of the coldest night's warmest sins

 

and i'll play ping-pong with punctuation

as though the ball were a smirk

and our paddles were heart palpitations

 

see,

i am the verbal storm

and when i rain

i will not drizzle

i will pour

 

and up there,

i will harness lightening and

still ask for more

 

i will wrestle with angels

until they give me a crown

and i will learn to love the ground

and i will learn to love you like

i learned how to walk, talk, cry and steal

 

i will learn to love you like

a hotel room or my favorite meal

 

you are the most well-constructed sentence

 

and i will write you out as big as john hancock, but

this is my declaration of transcendence

 

signed,

here lies the verbal astheticist

annoyed with those who ignore hypervigilance,

those who are unaware of subway-corner religion

 

here lies the verbal astheticist

who learned that their loving meant

everything when written

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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© 2018 by D. Inez "Z" Bell