A wasted stream of consciousness

This moment framed the poppies
and the reflex of my lightness.
life is a semi-colon,
a however in-between our teeth.
god didn't abandon you:
god is a boy and girl
(i said).
i feel her tomorrow
because i have flowers
dancing in my stomach.
-Ostara is apt-
i celebrate the spirit of poetry
in our cartography of desire.
she deserves my beauty,
my breasts, my benevolence.
your god is not dead:
he is waiting like we are
and he knows people
make a great effort to understand me
here.
how difficult it must be
to count our (in)differences!
another but for my list.
you won't find me inside
your mirror.
but we still cast poems
to invisible seas though
as we tiptoe into ourselves.
he pretends he likes carnations
and yet i see no miracles
blurring his words.
i thought he could be
like your unsupervised god;
just a semi-colon could help me
right now.
there's no problem my beasts shout.
a naive light touches me
and doesn't possess my insides,
framing my goddess.
we walk in peace,
misinterpreting and ignoring each other.
she comforts me:
spring springs from my eyes.
It is for us.

karla bardanza