Heart Flames

Image Art: Lonfeldt | Unsplash

In your bedroom, emotions stretch
like adhesive bandages over thoughts.

In the mirror, your body itself is a train
& passengers swarm out of your mouth, ears, eyes,

being sent & received. Hot communications
consuming the machines that churn them out.

Ripe days ebbing away, staring back at you through
the mirror: kisses, long showers, sensual laughter,

alien feeling of owning the melody, the broken parts.
The recycling finding its way nowhere

to a towering pile of multi-coloured glass,
shipped to another jurisdiction.

Somewhere, elsewhere, someone else’s problem.
Such sweet, exquisite wailing

overtaking vision, crawling up the walls,
unravelling obedient facial expressions & dialogues,

fracturing the mirror in so many places
the reflection starts to make sense.

The same way you feel when you spill over
the edges into another jurisdiction.

The same way you feel when you—
how you feel your way round,

how you feel your way around the heart flames,
how you learn their curves & contradictions,

moving inside them, inside out.
Fanning them out.

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