running across tapestries
endless threads of eclipsed brocades.
the blood moons I have sunk in the rivers
I have lost count of the black holes that sucked me in.
the stars I pluck into my pockets
they slip through holes
yet I have not stopped.
the golden cream of the sun’s bowels
has burnt my tongue
yet I go on tasting and shiver.
these shapes I take are faster than the breath
a single inhale
they give fuel.
and if stacked high
they would surpass
the hollow throats of the infinite space.
if these shapes could talk
what would their voices be
torn from the racking lungs of a wolverine
that I don’t even stop to look in the mirror
to see how they would look on me.
©Malintha Perera 2015