The Famished Asylum
You fell on me, with a knot and all eyes,
nothing more than the space
outside the quotidian argument,
uprooted and callow. You spoke
like a pendulum and I bit my lip.
I counted the years on my waist
at an angle from you – Sisyphus
drew breath, and my feet kicked the curriculum,
sharp. I am no more your absolution
than your vindication; you sip my perspective
like a sugared medicine,
to return, incongruous compliment,
playing your cards, starved,
and tilting the distant mind like a kitten’s paw.
A child is all that is implied.
Please; no more.