A murder of crows
has led me to you.
For you are the ghost
of the men that I knew.
You are the haunted
and you are unrested.
The men I had wanted
but never accepted.
You’ve gone through the wringer
defined by my lies.
No wonder you linger
behind my closed eyes.
No wonder the sadness
has left you so ashen.
For you are the madness
of sorrow and passion.
You are the death that
was saved by machines.
You are the flesh that
has made me obscene.
You with your trousers
convexed by confusion.
Coven carousers
confessed by collusion.
We left ourselves open
and thusly unbuckled.
Deftly unspoken
and clumsily suckled.
You parted my lips
like a concave whisper.
And departed eclipsed
by a conclave of scripture.
Written by Jason Wright
June 9, 2018