Offerings by Charles A. Gramlich

Charles A. Gramlich

Beneath a locust sun,
where memories stab
like the fingernails
of a harlequin witch…

he offers his hand
to the crimson lips…

that shine in his eyes,
the bloom whose petals
rest on his tongue
in a sacrament of need.

How he rages at the music
of his own words,
how he hates the scars
that alone hold him together…

as he offers his throat
to the sharpest thorns…

of the hungry mouth that feeds
on the lost and lorn,
the flower that heats
the nights of discontent.

In a field sewn with pride,
where mist bruises the skin,
where moonlight burns
like the venom of reckless kisses…

he offers his heart
to the darkest hollow…

of the wildest

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