Arousal
Awakenings born from explorations of Eloquence: The Conjuring Power of Words
i.
A pyramid of bodies, stacked one by one.
I wore the red blouse you stole from Nordstroms.
The red blouse you stole from Nordstroms
understood the language of arousal.
What is the language of arousal?
What is the origin of a blood moon?
The origin of a blood moon
once believed in the walls of this house.
I once believed in the walls of this house.
A sharp blade slices the skin of a throat.
A blade sharpens the throat of my skin,
slow whiskey rise of letting the ink spill.
Once the whiskey sets and the ink spills,
a pyramid of bodies, aroused one by one.
The lines of this poem once lived far apart from each other, stood in disparate camps, not part of the same world view. They were divided by location, one or two resided in failed or abandoned poems, a few lived in random journal writings, some on the outskirts in a pile of sticky notes. They were once divided by context, origin, dreams for their future, but they came…
