and burn myself
short days and (too) long nights
fill my lungs like
of a desperate last breath,
(and the memory of a first).
Your thoughts fall
cresting my head.
I died, lover.
And rose again, the same.
THAT love’s story be told
And Alexandria’s light endure,
A Queen prepares to make her Marc
Nonchalant in window light.
What resolve will hold him?
Or courage meet her gaze?
Smiling Venus, plants rose and myrtle,
And loosens a queenly gown.
Like a long-legged fly upon the stream
Her mind moves upon silence.
arrows, aimed at skies-
Like your name.
And this curve-
a perfect camouflage.
You bend me
so I won’t see
(until it’s too late).
I cut my lips
on mouthfuls of your name.
My blood curls
in arcs of smiles
(and with a taste
I wonder what it’s like to
from one wreck to another-
so I face the mirror and look.
Twice ruined. And you’re my
all the names
Ill count on fingertips
As I crawl
in and out of hearts
Their more is less
than your less.
No one speaks with
your scratchiness, and
The marks they made
like they too quickly run away
from my skin.
I trace those places you touched;
the scars that left me in darkness.
You expanded my consciousness
So I could sense you everywhere.
And I do–
with my frozen-frame thoughts of you
And that book you wrote, once,
The wet shadow on the floor echoes
Red marks on my skin that you left,
when burning words made
Me drop my cup,
breaking the silence with its breaking
Rather than with your certainty.
My stirring thoughts were black birds,
Gently pecking delicate fingers,
You thought to catch them; to wrap me round-
Instead, you coiled a spring.
I am awake now,
Can you see what you’ve awakened?!
I love your steel coldness,
I love your sleek edge,
Elongated, with sharp tines,
And equally dangerous curves.
In you I see fragments of reflection;
I pick you up, and turn you over,
Run a finger down your back,
And press you where I will,
Relishing the tastes you make mingle within;
The sensation of you bringing me life.
Reaching, I find your empty space’s space;
A nothing with sensation like no thing.
Your hungry numbness leaves a hollow taste;
Your pale sighing and cellophane glance
Empty the memory of my unfelt caress.
We were like two suns,
Fighting for the same heaven.
Two titans, diminishing each other-
As though the Dawn could set its rage against the Dusk.
Each questing to illumine The Moon,
As she climbs ephemeral twilight.
If this Sun had hands,
He’d reach and run a finger along
her sweeping curves;
Caressing each mound with a familiar touch,
She’d light up for him like a lantern
Hanging in the sky.
And if she glowed for another sun,
He would burn hotter still,
Blazing for her,
Consumed in a devouring inferno.
Becoming one with a blacked sky.
There, to be the night for her,
There, that she might shine in her silvery glow,
There, to be her shade as she reveals her face in moments.
There, to wander with her along the evening’s shore.
For all men look to her,
And she is where all stars end.
Not My hands.
But not Your touch.
Could be My hands?
But should be His hands.
Would be your pleasure.
But my pleasure?
Will be his pleasure.
And through him,
But not My ecstasy.
Given through Her,
But not You.
And Yours given to Him.
And not Me.
And I hold Her
And not You.
And You hold Him
And Not Me.