Hardness softens under serpents eyes of gold.
Concrete becomes her;
Crystallising lakes of,
What may we envelop with our softness
When our branches cannot reach the sky
For fear of an axeman’s careless wielding.
I will be hurt.
My iron will shatter into feathers, falling as crescent moons in a breeze,
Before I chance to dent you with
The knife edge of my tongue.
You believe in my horizon.
My sinking sunbeams throw out shades of golden reds and bloody orange.
The belly of the beast; illusion under seas that hath no space nor space constraint.
In my drowning sun you see a female devil,
Residing in her lair of fire.
You see her sleeping,
Beneath a stage of watery glass.
She is not retiring.
She is halving,
From the final throws of her fire,
That you drank like drops of sugar.
How much can you see?
A steely serpent drinking from versuvius in drunken sin.
When snakes wake from their poisoned mist
are they clear enough to see that their volcano-
Is a puddle from a broken tap,
Warm from the burning reflected in your gaze.
I feel myself drip like storm water,
Hiding under tarmac from the thunder.
Copyright © Izzy Mckenty | Year Posted 2019
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