Tuck

Bedtucked world of moon-dropped love
like tickling fire with a mirth ascribed
to night I am forlorn
to the avarice I am spent

to think of mutiny now is senseless

thus I spill blackish-silver

from my tongue

like moon flower

to grow

Bedtucked heart that longs no slumber

think crab like fingers

pierced are the nails

like dandelion they grow

corrupt cutting

as biting you know

is a habit happening

habit to know

You bled like silver flow

your rich tongue knew

you are the art

I am the canvas

I am the artist

you are the brush

let us be born

one breath at a time