I watch as they remain unflinching, petals of the sun while the wicked wind whips the snow, and darkness slowly descends. How do we restore balance in the world? How do we dispel negative gravity? I wake without reason to logical fallacies, sly in apparition— speak not of the sky, drowning choke of smoke and fire for fear that mercy is evidently misplaced, I slip on the straps and release a sigh. Come ink words in the blind, watch as grey headed canaries break free from cages— my love is unselfish but I require you to breathe, coffee lips in the throes of death and change, perhaps we are reading the shadows wrong; forever cannot draw a circle.
The whiskey dark water conjures memories of you, suffusing the skin with the softest of blushes—
distance stretches adamant and yet
sometimes it feels like we are close enough
to breathe in deeply,
like the sharp, brackish aroma of air present all around, I take it you already know we tend to look into things which are better off unseen, the sweet poison of a lie’s flavour is pungent it’s the coldest of blues that makes us question everything we have ever known.
A handful of earth, dew on a wild rose
is every bit ecstasy and is every bit undeniable;
I am gloriously indulgent when left to my own devices, my body with its curves swirls and caves in to the boundless depths of the sea. A Poet lives two lives, one on the outside and one in the mind, look into the eyes and see an abyss, if you look long enough you could sink into it; take the time and read the words, similar to the waves that send chorus of voices.
I blow kisses to the sea and offer a silent prayer, hear its melancholy sound, you have a beautiful way of making me harden and melt at the same time;
perhaps I have turned wanting into an art form, my ribcage like a conch shell where you can hear a thousand songs— I want them to throb; I want them to throb.
It falls down as nectar making the ground wet with salvation, I am parched although it rests on the edge of my lips, beckoning my vision melting and morphing into all that could be— the laughter of the sky fills the night, as nymphs tread a lovely dance among immortals, I gaze down and watch as my body flutters and chases them around ash trees.
Savor the taste of bitter truth, two pieces of the root of the sweet iris without bark, one litter of grappa and brown sugar. Observe as the sun kisses the pieces dry, pouring ever so slowly like liquid gold as heaviness of the day is lifted. For ninety days be placed in a litter of grappa as time stings and sits on the cuts and lastly drink, all the lone while, breaking a little more–
Love notes for irises blooming beneath your bedroom window, the clouds no longer grey and cheeks flushed with the knowledge of arriving decades. Aphrodite, born from white foam produced by severed genitals of Uranus, as the moons of youth spilled once more into dawn and we felt ourselves interminable again. Tell me, why does love sting for those who choose it? In a heartbeat, she laughed and in a moment I knew.
Lay me down in all my vulnerability, and place an iris between my hips, for once we have tasted eros everything else fails— tomorrow’s raindrops pale in comparison to the fire in your eyes as they trace my skin, forbidden songs jagging placid landscapes; and now, I cannot tear my gaze away.
Cushion-deep, his scent circles me and my thoughts elemi, pink pepper and geranium followed by cedar, with fingers that trace the overhead sky– moonless in its apparition. With each breath, a new promise takes root my canary heart colliding with the wild sky of darkness and light– every sense in return is heightened. I place my poems birthed from his ribcage into a jar and wait as night turns into morn; the only remnant being a lipstick mark which offers his yearning not rest.
And so, it happens, midway upon the journey of life I find myself meandering through the grey and misty streets– their chaotic fragrance somewhat soothing, sets me on fire.
You humbly inquire after my beliefs, and percussion bold that breaks through the windows of heart– as to this I could not precisely say, so, I drew it out and held it gingerly; I am surprised by the warmth in your eyes, hazel gold in their fervour.
I drink pink grapefruit consolation and make peace with the idea that I can never finish a sentence without you nodding your head in approval; nobody is at fault here, the city’s veins are bent on beating amber to red— these shadows offer the shape of life.
Before I sleep, I whisper your name satin syllables that roll right off the tongue, barely stirring the air yet a hurricane of desire follows, I cannot remember a time when I did not hunger for you to dance along, before lower lip gave me away— January in return sighs at invisible poems and half a cup of longing at my bedside table.
In the realm of you, my dappled sky is moonless, fringed with fire
and deep-seated in platitude– the clouds that promise rain are pensively deep, equipping me
with the clarity I need, and I wonder if your crystal clues of truth are identical– I am core shaken, captivated and at sixes and sevens, my glitter-stained tangled roots disappearing into a twisted earthen forest pathway, where a canary whispers your name— soft and easy.
In my mind, the sense of you is something behind a tinted window, part apparition, part firelight you just might be the safest, most dangerous thing
I have ever done– your eyes filled with oceans crashing,
tracing poetry along corner of lips where words are left
unspoken– I feel myself drawn to sweet gravitational pull, with solitude circling my ankles. No cages. I cannot imagine … a more exquisite imprisonment.