pearl
You bite the fruit of your lip
as your body arches like a bridge
& your pitch and yaw bruises my mouth
You shatter & I piece you together
chartreuse
Blood freezes when you bury a mark in the graves of your eyes. You leave cold stains of shadow on your psychopomp perch. A marble-mouthed spider with feminine hands. Emotion, alien to your spare, vulpine heart, might as well be a foreign tongue. You have no aptitude for language. Your face forgot its face; you’re entirely unremarkable. Ordinary. That’s what makes you dangerous. You aren’t underestimated as much as you’re overlooked – you silent, sullen whisper. You voice turning my hair to ash. You’d condescend to be a matchstick, to allow an ordinary fellow to fathom your eyes’ fathomless depths. Darkness lights lamps in those slashes. Those stagnant pools. Those hellish windows. I ask you to leave. You’re unwelcome here, you slight, unassuming death. Gather like bones and scatter.
Hector resides in Oregon with his wife and Cat. He’s spent most of his adult life reading and writing poetry, eating delicious food, and spending time with family and friends. In addition to poetry, Hector teaches and trains jiu-jitsu and plays guitar.
The Literary Forest Poetry Magazine 