I WILL CALL YOU HEAVEN

 The mulberry tongue of serpent split in two while we collect our home land in toe nails.

Biting off the slender necks of marigold with long nails to adore our hair we sing hymns even angels forgot.

The warm summer drizzle soaking us wet and we are green ferns, heavy and sparkling in evening light.

We find ghosts with masks in family dinners and our throats itches for all the grief we can't swallow. 

The pain is carving a Fibonacci's series, beautiful and tragic, in the walls we painted with layers of blues to hide the red coloured flowers.

We move through the crowd in softness of the underbelly of a dead pigeon folding the flesh of sky between our black umbrellas.

The strawberry candles flicker while gate keeping our unfertilized kisses blowing dandelions at sharp twelve o clock.

We look at devil with sympathy, for he is a fallen star, helpless and hanging, his unfathomable hunger is his sin.

We mothered each other perfectly knowing that we will outgrow each other, still we cry over the loss of our chocolate flavored smiles.

You call me the warmth of an afternoon nap,

A sea port with the name of a dead queen,

A honey volcano of a distant island 

Nails on the cross of a saint who resurrected, 

Ladybug on a daisy petal, 

Crushed stars on a cathedral's arc and 

every metaphor you could think of. 

I will call you heaven,

 for am a sinner who won't ever reach you.

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