a sybaritic desire
to thrill you with my words
to lay them at your feet
bougainvillea petals
falling free from the stem
with spurious inflorescence
gather them and know they are for you
..
i’ll hide the thorns of course
bury them deep in palm flesh
to seraphic sting, no remorse
with blood droplets
exquisitely smeared across lips
adding
crimson
subtracting
all the reasons why
we cannot be
we cling to the underside of the earth
in shadows, eternally fixed
as the world turns
one final time
..
the stifled prophets were right
and I grasp your fingers
to enter the longest night
..
the moon has been cast off
tumbled to a galaxy unknown
Tsukuyomi at last free to dance
unshackled from his lunar throne
..
the glass sea a stagnant pool
settling with miasmic cool
ripples that once were
shall frothy detritus incur
..
we cling to the underside of the world
pupils permanently dilate
ice crystals kissing
our
pallid, primal
state
you hang low, plump …inviting
sumptuously spawned in summer sun
fleeting fruit so tempting
luxuriant on lubricious limb
the one
should I pluck you now?
anticipating viscid juices, trickling down my chin
should I wait for fuller flavour?
as it intensifies within
i hesitate with such a thought
i spin you, stem spliced with spiral strain
observing the peachy pirouette
seasonally engorged
to please again
i am a tattered bookmark
nestling between feathered pages
the best time of your day you say
with coveted book, to read in stages
..
but alone in the light of day
to leave this worded catacomb
i’ll edge away from threaded spine
seeking freedom from paper home
..
so many of your transient reads
have evoked smiles…private tears
i’ve watched them come and go
i the constant,through the years
..
but these pages are not my friends
they constrict with musty damp
so rest me on your bed time lap
there us both, by oiled lamp
you are succulent, sublime
a titillating triumph
worthy of rhyme
presented to bewildered senses
..
oh, if i could but breathe you
..
but your scent has been lifted
in flagrant defiance to my need
a fragrance deified with floral emollients
into a crystal vial
lush, concentrated
tucked under Raziel’s wing
contents sealed, angel warmed
to wait
until our empyrean dawn
..
for, on that day
mere misted drops of you
melding with the amber morn
shall rhapsodize
such a horizon resplendent
with dawn’s resonant sighs
i am at one with a morose mist
it creeps over, draping
it’s moist tendrils
merge, shaping
shivered fingertips
to settle
on prostrate limbs
so inviting this mellow of
malleable depths
..
lament not
these quagmired proclivities
i chose this home of drawbridge splinters
of fenland, forest and fortress
to nestle your frigid winters
and linger in murky,
mired martyrdom
a stagnant slimed moat
together beneath ice sheet
our cloistral bodies still float
I have all the time in the world
for you
Which is to say
I’ve found a little fertile patch of ground
Sheltered from the sear of the day
And there place, with gentle press
You, single seed
In state of pre-pumule* undress
..
But the early spring
Is cooler
than most
And the frigid ground
a near inhospitable host
for your translucent roots
..
So you turn from my hesitant gaze
You course through weeds,
their maze
a convolute of root and thorn
such wayward course, I try to warn
..
you
wilted shoot
I shall not mourn
*The plumule is the part of a seed embryo that develops into the shoot bearing the first true leaves of a plant.
