My heartbeat triangulates through pillow;

sounds wet, misleading–

pillow smells clean

against my tier;

of no motion,

false emotion.


Minerva gathers her wings from your

bedside table;

tongues your lotion for the feeling–

not the texture

upon portrayed skin,

while her poetry selfishly soothes her soul.


Her exoskeleton senses no genius from you;

fingertips caress the hilltop of once confident breast–

now concave

and limited

from the erosion of rusted, selfless button.


Wrinkle her brain;

treat her anti-social with

anti-anxiety sundaes–

moisturize the familiar

with lotion;

as anti-fat collapses on herself.


Mortality tastes like ambrosia

aged to winter’s torment;

but beautiful–


“It’s all in the stems–

comfort in plain,”

Minerva whispers,

seedless and crying,

as her heartbeat falls into context–

wet and misleading…

2 thoughts on “Lotion

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s