Poetry
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Here you arewrapped aroundas idle thorns.Breast carved as mountains,hips curved into rivers,veins stretched into branchesfrom the tree of eternity. From Spring’s love,you walk from Autumn into Winter,decked in the flowers youprevent the bitterness from collecting. I’ll hold for as longthe walk will go on.I’ll fade with you, rotting withoutever becoming anew. You cling to me,fingernails…
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Incomplete,in defeat.Stagnant, and apartfrom you, on the brittle highway,leaving bloodstains where Icollided, removing clots,removing barricadeswhere I was meant to stop. Will you still take to me,crippled, red rose?How beautiful you sproutin the deformed night.Red petals, bleak stem,with remembrance to yoursubtle changesthat left me to bury this heartin the scentless earth. Changes, the rearrangementsto what was…
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Tight ropes,on the tight ropearound the throat of caress,kissing velvet into blue,merging flesh with the constrictionof traditional deathwith the kisses blownto the fleeing wind. Our eyes rotateto see the Heavens,blue with the earth’s oceans,green, and the burning landbecomes everything like sand. Hands to our shoulderspull away. Kisses to our cheeksturn apart,break our skin apart,as we…
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A drink, would you take me up on it? Hell has never had such bitter oceans and driving rush. Not spring with its morning dew could renew your eyes, nor could a gleam from winter’s sunsets, then on, to a lone summer sunrise. No renewal, at where we met, blossoming buds inside our glances, as…
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I could not be the oneto strangulate you,to triangulate youat pinpoint corners,leaving you cryingat the tearstained skies. I could not bethe devil you always expectedto hold your hand,leading you throughto misery’s bleak company. These hours I leanedon the traffic jam of yourstops to be next to me.Sighs were repeated,life was defeated,buried with the rope,the noose…
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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…
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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…
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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…
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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…
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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…
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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.…
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He hates, with a mindthat remembers nothingbut the song.The dirge in the distanceto longest locks dressed overa casket of an empire.Her face, the shortest disgrace,set above a form of broken twigs. Her relief in her last breathhad swept a curtain over her.Her face is keptwith the same brittle tearsas sap to the sleeping tree. Fires…
Modern Romanticism 