Stitched in silver plumes
& music sheets
it didn't move our skin
to an intricate dance -
No, give us a mask
that makes our faces
alive: teeth baring, cheeks rouged
red, nostrils flaring
to scent of prey & danger -
A mask that doesn't mistake the
wanting in the eyes. Nor dims
desire
creamy & heavy lidded as the moon.
No this is the mask
that latches into our
bones & cracks
not smoothening but raving
our edges & unvarnished thoughts
black & primal
hungry for chase
A mask that purrs & wears nothing
but its claws
loving the havoc
of being put on
The mask that burns
slick words, speaking
in dead languages & ancient chants
Unmasking
until
We forget
our names but this-
Darkness
Here we are -
Posted for Imaginary Garden with Real Toads: Mini - Challenge: Masks by Grapeling ~
Shared with Poets United
Picture credit: here
