Warped

Every once in a while, I forget just how much I delight in Frankenstein(ing) my blackout poem bits. Then, the muse remembers, stitches them together, and we birth something deliciously warped:

 

Ink my body into temptation,
then art the darkness with my want.

You see, love is misery
and happiness,

and…

when your words love me well,
the world finds all the right spots
and life moans her pleasure.

I want us—
cradled by our warped
selves, attached to our old
and terrible…
I want us.

 

the visual poetry

crafted for Hedgewitch’s Friday 55 and Poets United (Poetry Pantry, 393).