Thief with fruit scented perfume — Omar Mass
poetry ☆
poetry ☆
The night unbuttons its throat for you,
a bruise blooming beneath cathedral ribs.
You enter without footsteps,
all apology and appetite,
a silhouette poured from older hungers.
Your fragrance arrives
not roses, not smoke
but the split-open promise of orchard flesh:
It clings to the dark
the way a secret clings to a pulse.
I know you by that sweetness.
It is how you confess.
You are a thief
not of silver, nor sleep,
but of the small, defenseless motions
The beautiful crime of my midnight vagabond.
Whether with a brush, camera, or prose, my goal is invite viewers of my art into a story of self-reflection and a deeper understanding of the world surrounding me.
