Poem – “In Arms, Forever…” – Romance – 12/11/2019

Together, and now
When we will allow
Ourselves, to spit upon the blight,
The doubt,
That held us back,
There is green upon the leaves, when autumnal frost still cakes them.
I am in belief, that this love will flourish, with a crown of blood droplets,
Rubies, tears from the form,
And sapphire, tears from the face.
We are together, in arms, forever…
To bleed upon the world, what we worship.

We are blooded and tearful,
Made for the caresses, in a thousand waterfalls.
We stand in an idle position, never to suffer, again,
Love makes us apples and pears,
Adorned in the sweetest honey.
Breasts, for wielding,
And a form for tasting,
Is yours, as mine, at the command of my fingertips
And tongue.

Where will your beauty flourish,
Upon the next arrival of another day?
Perhaps in the many spaces we gather buds,
And petals, having sprouted
From the soil of a field,
Within your mind, a place once a virgin, high above
Near your brow?

Love forms a wedding for our joy.
Death will not disavow a memory which we employ.
We stay among the highest embrace,
With tears and sapphire, blood and rubies.

Poem – “Dew upon the Frailest Face” – Romance – 12/9/2019

I knew to love,
What was trusted deeply
To the nuptial part of our romance,
Before an altar with primrose and tulip,
And the sight of Christ upon our faces.

And, it was yours he shared the most attention,
As you wept, among the repeated sighs,
To the warm wind of this summer height.
A little droplet of morning dew nested beneath your eye,
The left one.

It created children,
And brought down a rain of orphans to your white feet,
Bared to the warm winds.
I cast love in a direction, I knew to be
The kiss to bring you ecstasy.

Little lady
With a vivacious spirit,
You have grown to only weep,
At the sight of me,
And I have yet to know of what emotion, comes the tear’s origin.

Shall I kiss, again?
Upon the forehead, perhaps,
Or the lips, again?
Upon each cheek, perhaps,
So that I may know?

Tears were once what we knew to be tragedy,
And tiredness.

Failure was a sting to our hearts, made-up by that ecstasy
And everything beauteous.

Poem – “When I cannot Love” – Romance – 12/4/2019

When I cannot love,
When I cannot drown
In the arms of a one,
Who took me above
To see what could not be undone.

A woman,
A face,
Of splendor and beauty,
Each small bit of fervency,

Each frail part of tragedy,
Is hers for the closing
Of my heart.
One streaming face,
One anguished expression,
Laced with the marks of a pair of hands,
That had ripped open your mouth,
To hear your words.
Were they ever true?
Have you moved quicker than I?

A face with a mouth,
Two parted pinkish lips, and lowered eyelids,

And a tongue that seems to speak,
Words I cannot make out,
Words I’ve come to ignore,

Words I’ve come to despise.
A face, that is laced with my marks,
My hands,
My burning stare.

My form is one of disaster,
While yours still stands beautiful.

Poem – “Your Little Desperation” – Romance – 12/4/2019

With one wicked remark
By your feathered tongue,
A lightness in your voice,
To soothe me,
Down into unwarranted pain.
And the sting comes upon my arms,
And my legs,
And my neck,
Is enough to be drunk.

I would call this pleasure,
Were the levels not so different,
Between yourself and me.
And were our faces not so different,
Of your own and my own.
I am sickened,
By your taste,
By your voice,
Of it all, each thing you say is fear.

Your little desperation,
To say I should return,
For a pathetic friendship,
Will grieve me,
Grieve me,
And grieve me, ever-more.
I beg you to lie there,
And see what I’ve felt,
As I offer lash after bloody lash.

Poem – “The Bird without Wings” – Romance – 12/2/2019

Upon thy broken and velvet back,
There is a tiny frailness,
A little bird without wings,
It sits, while I sit, and I paint,
To see what I’ve always envisioned,

A woman with eyes like onyx stones
Within a lake of sapphire,
And a face of pure porcelain,
Dotted with freckles like leaves in another lake
Of immaculate white milk.

But, the bird atop your back,
Has no wings.

It attempts to flap mere stubs,
And cannot fly.
What freedom does it possess?
Is it your pet?
Is it your child?

The poor frailty
Of that little bird,
Causes my tears to be my paint.

I drain blue to the canvas,
And turn what is painted to be a white back,
To a blue one.

And to yourself, I reach my head,
When I lean forward after I’ve raised
Myself, from this horrid chair.

And I lay a kiss,
Upon not you,
But that bird.
Your face appears startled, a vision of fear,
A vision of confusion,

Love is in my eyes,
Not for the one I’ve painted,
But the one I’ve pained for,
My love, my beauty with eyes of green,

Who do I love? Who have I seen?

We have been lovers a long while,
But, that bird! That bird!

Poem – “A Dying Need” – Romance – 11/29/2019

Come closer,
Frail one, to my door,
Where you’ve heard these screams before.
Where my limbs had once crashed
To the floor,
And had then risen
To meet your throat,
With a solid grip to drain life away.

Pain and shame is now an empire,
Among all the redness to your lips.
You’ve tasted blood,
Have you not?
Your dream for loneliness
Has become a sheer reality.

Love should be a nest of caresses,
And yet,
All I see is ash falling from your tresses.

Your face is a light of resplendence,
With each hue always new,
And each lash above your eyes,
When it falls,
Shows all the blackness I’ve always tasted.

You will come to where I have died,
To where all words of love,
Were merely words to make us cry.

Pain is now our highness,
With isolated thorns upon your crown,
And the disease that drenches your hands,

Is merely the blood from my heart.

Poem – “A Man Lone in Love” – Romance – 11/27/2019

Beauty recedes
As the ocean and its fluids
Upon stark shores,
Masking us in its amassing plenty.
I still hold your hand,
Despite my eyes upon this dark ocean.

Each recession,
Each regression,
Is like swallowing another tear.
And each wave against my feet,
Is like one drop upon my knees,
During when I am curled up against defeat.

Love should hold hands with love,
Beauty should be the fragrance of this sea.
And yet, I stand firm to believe,
With sadness upon my worn face,
That I’ve left anything noting simplest grace,
To where my tears drain into this cruel sea.

It runs against my feet,
And marks coldness on love’s heat.
My hair and its straw-like texture,
Is so alike a desert, alike the sand behind me.
Shall I join the edges?
Shall I see to where I am destined to leave?