day 10: i don't know what's come over me

thistle-thorned and bracken'd to the teeth
toothsome though you are
our silver cord does not sparkle
spark a laughing between our throats
throttle the unknown of hopes
hopeful lie the wings in tomb
entombed in my ribcage bare
bared shoulders never draw you near
nearest though i call you clear

clearly i am faulting
fault-lines on a globe
globular drops of strangely-viscous rain
reign o'er me, you goon

-Dana Winter