wattle and daub

our youth —
wattle and daub, flimsy as our age,
mud caked but warm and curled
around the firepit — oh how we danced,
savage in our skins, our new jaws clicked
and what was wild in our eyes rose
viperous as smoke and off then off
into the bleach bone sky. ah,
the rage of it all — the rage
and all our brazen ruin, woven
into the hide of our house.

Image: Ondrej Supitar on Unsplash

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.