organisms
you
blue
in flight
swooping
or is it
soaring
perspective’s the thing
as though
the flower mattered
vulval
flaming red
asemics
whatever it was
you said
in a scrawl
in darkest black
high and low
it has somehow been lost
in an avalanche
a frenzy of beige
a contoured
flickering reflection
of this aging vellum
our skins have become
song
castrated
your evolution frustrated
scored into onto paper
arching
tearing
raw colour swabbed
a myth
in the making
and remaking
remarking to two minds alike
dear god
only knows
how this song will end
John Mingay