Golgotha storms

 His sea  salty  breath  rides  in his  wild west  wind
 and  he reigns in hard rain to leave a waking hush-a-bye,
to leave a dream scar cut  deep  into  memory:
 A crib of  wet  dirt from  his quick  tempered  skirt .
For he has stung and strung, vessels in sown storms
That low growl, in boiling brewing hisses,
of  whored  horses;  their white mains flick
As their mouths  do in anger spit,
Leaving coins of sliver; strewn as spikes in soft clouds:
a simple reminisce…an afterthought?

And   light  ripples in bitterin’  fingers,  cutting  hard
with a soft  killing  kiss;
 which  cull’s  the  day  into a  night  so quick,
Leaving traces  of itself to  find in hints and images;
where shades flaming eyes linger with malice.
But now  rises  the seed of need  that  bleeds
So softly  to spark  a shuddered release.
There is a pause of night then a crack spills in the late suns bliss.
And in his wake  petrichor is  softly released in quakes
Tempered  in lines  that  are wrist punctured:
a rolling and divine high.
in  tears that tear a  sigh.

© adh 2015