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Kristian Cura

Living Once

This red blood,
is my memory of you.
This red blood between my fingers,
wreath in my skull,
where smoke patterns crease,
till the noise ceases.
Hunting below,
the seas orgasmic purity,
masses of water flexure,
triggering motions in disparity,
having everlasting will in tow,
of expendable expanses.

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Mechanical Manifest

Escalate my vision,
sedated in isolation,
captivated in remission.
I feel no hate,
no leaves that burn my fingers,
as autumn lays down her head,
only crimson shades that waft,
into the blazing light.
I am coming down,
with the strain on my heart,
placed there by your hand,
which nourishes my soul,
cracking with smiles.

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