torqued and wound, with compass eyes protruding, furrowed
beneath white gold brows
a slow second hand ticks one . . . two . . . . three . . .
A belt of gold fastened to his hips weighed down
1,736,176 pocket watches tick, he watches
White wisp clouds adorned in buttercup yellow glide
silver and pearl throne
blue agate, turquoise, carnelian, onyx, ruby
green ivy climbs, wrapping around its seat, he sits
I met a saint there, in the top of the trees beneath my window
he has the shape of a heron yet gold, feathers
laced with silver and copper, his eyes
watches, his height
that of a man.
Upon his back I climbed
thrust upon the ambient night like glass upon water, we lifted
through labyrinths of pearl and sapphire walkways, streams
liquid gold, he lead me
to his throne, to the Father of time.
We just sent you an email. Please click the link in the email to confirm your subscription!
OKSubscriptions powered by Strikingly