Love
-
Down the trickle flowsto an extended palm.Liquor glows,the afterglow of a drunken eveningI spent washing myself in you,your tears,the taste of everything dear,nothing clear. Parading solace,a perfume of wild eyes,crystal in confusion.Widen the openingto allow me entrance.A bath to soak through the ruin,to build another ending. One more timelosing teardrops as thetraces of you, on…
-
“Is it wise to love? No one knows. No one understands why that expressionless force, limited to our expressions of facial features and tears, yet limitless in each direction it goes will keep arriving to take us somewhere new. Love, the alien. Love, the most common of strangers to enter our arms, finding solace, facing…
-
And yet,when the fog stays,love’s breath is here tokeep Hell’s warmth on fingers,on a form that shiverswith the cold of amnesia,induced enough to reducea man to his knees. Begging with a plea,answers returning from seato keep me alive with the bleed.From wrists known to be kissed,from a heart that will never startwithout the heat of…
-
I watch,as time is slowed downto a ruin.Beneath these feet,a bed is storming and crumbling.I viewrippled sheets into tidal waves,renewingthose lips to exhalea thousand more sighsbefore the world ends. Kissing your chin, as ifthe edge of a wine glass.Lifting you,of those pendulum hips thattell time to an alarm,that to the firewill reveal you apart from…
-
Repeat these words,as all women have said,though none have led, – that your beauty divides the wavesbeneath me and thee,for me to never place a fingeron the flesh I have craved. Were you always ableto hold yourself so together,of parts never missingnor ever weathered? Bring a heartbeat close.Close, for the kissupon your fertile breast,then to…
-
Holy hopeof something unwantedin its approach,while the devil inside itselfwill find other guilt to wield,to carry as a heavy torch,the lightest of light. Bleed heron the cross,open with her loss,broken in a placememorable to forget, – while fading eyes never seethe cadavers placed next to shein the final hours. Caress her,undress herto stitch the loose…
-
Here, I hangwith ribbons to decoratea gained honor, in dyingfor a heart I piercedwith black arrows. I ripped, I toreinto the gift, presented there.I loved until the aching contentsfrom a furnaced soulcame rushing back. Here, being hangedfrom the same ribbonsused, for this place in cryingfor a love left on the boatswept forward in the sighing.…
-
Note thetransparencyin the overlapping softnessin your voice, in the choice thatburied us in the nighttime’sgleam, beneath the moon,beneath the mysterysurrounding your eyes. In your strangulationupon these shared breaths,you left,parting with the night,seeing no moments that matterwithin sight. A leader’s tragicwalk, towards a cliffto spill the contents ofa heart, caught from above.He thought to be blind,in…
-
If our lovewas not the candle, undyingin the fog of a daywe shared cups of tears,wine from our veins,we will be rebuildingthe sinking vessel. One buried lookin the eyes that give offexact radiances, with the sunI can part from, withoutglancing back.If our love never was,I could dream, to envision,even without your oarsto move this life.…
-
To the eyes, to the moonlit part of earthen eyelids that winter shut, that night had hid beneath where bones are forming trails in the scattered dirt. Life above, pages below written in the earliest hour, laid in the latest light. A soldier’s cross, a mother’s woe, while faces, the same in glance to what…
-
She runs, crawlsthe same pace as her infantthat starves in her hand.Counting the scarsembedded in the earth,where faces sink in their tears,where sicknessis a choir’s song. Counting the stretcheseither on a furthering roador this mother’s belly.Naming the markswhere a child escapedeither from heror from its home. A funeral, with the leavesleftover from a resented autumn.Much…
-
When will the lion’s jawsclose to the stench of a wound,while a mother’s arms are aflamefor the warmth of her child? While the soldier prayswhere the night stands still,in the sight of knees against sand,there are fatherswho grace the motherland. Bullets on paper,bombs to heat the shelter.Loneliness revisits the eyes,apart from unificationto the outskirts of…
Modern Romanticism 