The luminous clarity of you,
Evanescent and easy when held,
Unsheltered. I remember it to
Be a fair part of my continuum,
The way I strove for balance,
Among the lithe rope walkers
And substituted fear for grace.
Such flickering precision,
Of the lips, the fingers and the
Eyes spoke of a lovable version
Of life itself in its many layers
And I took it all, on the cusp
Of losing myself to the merits
Of you, plentiful and alive.
I keep porous dreams
And vapid lovers.
I measure myself
Against their ticking
Mouths and unfed
Gazes, their warmth
Rendering a sense
Of mysterious desert
In search for grapelike
Raindrops of oasis.
And when the fat,
Indulgent rain showers
Away the errant steps,
I storm the skyline
And cloud the touch,
I whisper the malice
And bite away the cry,
I am humanly unsound.
Dreams float, lovers
Beckon at stray smiles,
The world and I nod
In matching approval.
in my remembrance of you
a sea of things is lost, yet
lingering at eye corners,
between minute skin fissures,
along lithe lifey threads,
elusive of varnished smiles
and calloused half-hearts,
there stands a whole, articulate
language of you meant to escape
my grasping, sweltered lips.
de-vowelled and unveiled,
a clatter of fallen sticks,
dispersed far and wide
shouts our own dismantled
runic spasms, jabbering.
I am looking for a language
That grows and shrinks
Within the very weak of me,
Independent of rules, grammar
And stance. Almost too flippant
To inhabit a mind or a heart,
Always channeling the other
Like a spring that splits time
Anew and naturally fails.
It would stand untranslatable,
Organic, washing ashore
All radiant attempts at asunder
Practices of forgetting, failed
Once more. Such coiling tool of
Appropriation would much render
The many facets of us into
A slender vanishing act.
Like an afterthought of little stance and weight,
I slip beneath your skin, biting a yawning wound
Inside layers of familiar twill, finger compliantly
The folding warmth, before the veins loop me internally.
I stand your Achilles, stretching from ankle to heart,
Glowing on arcane search parties in and out your width,
Across the mangled temptations of self-sufficiency, at large-
One thing flies higher than any windless kite on your skies.
You love the comfort of being wanted
And flirtingly elude your cares of heart,
Muscular pain in place of rainbow want,
And predatory lips speaking of compliance.
You know there is no redemption in evil
And no undoing in the face of normalcy,
Yet you bandage me inside your anemone
Of warmth as if I were a blind swimmer
Inside an uncovered sea of walking limbs.
Take Ides of March, my foe,
In revelry and feast above all,
Let the slaying for the dusk.
Never mind the tremor of the sigh,
I belong still to the quiet hands
Of some blind root that keeps
Love inside cork-lined mornings.
I shall peel off layers of affectation
Before the blade pierces the core
And the pleasing nature of absent
Things, fills the contemplating eye.
What makes a ghost visible?
The possibility of the unseen
And the chance to be noticed.
Against wind and tide, the vows
Not taken, the road not spoken,
My illness is time. Time unspent
And unlived, unhealed and unwed,
The discernible ghoul of my traces
Into the multitude of us, unborn,
Unfed, unmet, unloved, unbroken.
Awkward and imperfect, yet salient
To my eyes, full of wraithlike combs
And joyful slopes of cuddled marks,
Such treacherous snake coils at dawn
And counts my femaleness in gulps.
You picked the day and the mood,
I kept to myself, bashful and ripe.
Then, the stance of the yet unlived,
And screening of the probable sun,
Under the vacant skies, pierced
Front teeth, whitening the distance
To intended ears filled with coarse,
Still familiar, brutal words of love.
Later on, I picked the fights, the sighs,
You entertained the silences and rues.
It was naked poetry, toppled with play
Enough to shake the fruity, scented world.
And when the ink turned air, we signed
For odd, uneasy creatures, one heart short.
