at night, with ghosts
the candles are the color of suns if suns were the color
we think they are. suns are the color
of souls left to wander, matchless. trimming the wicks
is a job for the devil, her precise vision
and razor nails. we all want a hand on the ouija board
because belief makes up for the lonely.
the candle lights of its own accord, fills the chest
with the scent of honey and milk.
hold it behind you so i can see through your skin,
thin and whispered as a sinner’s prayer.
Image taken with iPhone at the Geek Seekers shoot.
Words written at Jewel Box.
Ears On Chely Wright’s conversation about being Christian and gay.
Time Taken ?
Brain On mmmm. Pizza. I’m such a food whore.