magoski
Presence here
is a shadow
filled w/ form,
a candle filled w/ flesh,
a wick that warms
slowly,
achingly,
engaged in surrender.
a trembling asymptote of touch.
Suffice it to say—
whispers are how you pray.
You bring the freshly baked bread,
still steaming with life,
and drag it through the drippings,
the holy oil of want,
the salted residue
of sweat and tongue.
in flickering wax,
hot and slow,
melting
it smells of you—
your absence becoming form.
Favorite track: Clarence is a Concept.
