His fingers read my body like Braille, skimming the epidermis
Along the fine downy trail
We are on a scarlet sea
His hands in my mouth, my teeth in his bones,
Spitting the marrow out.
It hurts that he cannot see the curve, the words; the colors in me.
We chew like dogs on each other’s skin,
Hair and mucus, between the gums.
We claw and devour like rat infested ghetto women,
Noisy and messy, and full of need.

Blood, Bone, and Stone, Copyright © 2013 Aria Ligi published in VLP, Far From Home

Oath Oar

All I came to do- Hear tenderly, and know we are one,
Behind the rise and the set of the sun.
We are subsumed in this finite skin,
As less than what we are, abbreviations, and lies,
Hampering and laying the material divide.
Where love reigns, disinterested yet alive.

Nineteen, copyright ©2017 Aria Ligi The Australian Times

Mourning Flies

Some held a mass at her grave.
Petals strewn on the mild lave.
Granite-rose a gray façade,
Interred within where she strode.
A feast of inclusion frescoes on the base relief.
Some held sprays dabbing eyes,
Faux fantasies & sorrowful byes.
Some held her in and prayed for their grief,
Clutching filthsome divots-
Clumps of glass moldered tears wandering ash.
Witticisms escaping lips- smiles twisted,
A dissonance consigned to the riddle.
Her desertion – her ranging from them all,
The self- flying free from her angry vexing pall.

Nineteen, copyright ©2017 Aria Ligi The Australian Times