Wednesday, September 30, 2009

To Love's To Let Delegate

as Winter nears and Summer clears
my fear of what I thought love dissipates
inhibitions sink as I disappear
in your affection, that instigates
changes in my disposition of love's
fiction and as our story implicates
I make haste to see that between
you and me dreams' poetry dictates
that to love's to let go and another to show
you that your heart's subject to its extent of delegate

Tuesday, September 22, 2009

If Dreams Could Redeem

I can't remember when I last felt this way
when or if I ever wanted someone so near
it's unclear but it may be that I never did
that I never let myself want anyone so dear
but now a night ends slowly and so it hurts
to not feel the hours pass quickly with you
I hear the clicking of the clock from my bed
as lying awake in the still night is all I can do
I choke on the silence that fills the room
and cigarette smoke stains all my senses
I think of tomorrow and what I might want
until I'm indecisive but for you and the past tense
will you be a lover that I sleep with forever
set to seep through the echoes of my dream
will I one day look back and wonder if I did
everything to leave me nothing to redeem

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Teeth Marks Lovers Leave

lain in bed you bite me and your teeth leave marks
shades of red upon the fresh flesh of my heart
I lick and grip you by the throat with the strength of my tongue
knowing, convicted, with my touch the lust brought undone
and we slowly sink in, to fasten each other, our nails
till, with moans and gasps, pain and pleasure impales

the scent of unbearable affection explored in the darkness
lingers in the humidity, now, of your apartment
and night air envelopes and stamps us as we sit
bruised, bathing in moonlight and stars so brightly lit
while slowly seep do the dreams once dreamt in vain
through the cracks of the truth that always remains

hazily gazing, we exhale sighs of white smoke
into the thinning night air as morning starts to choke
the last spent moments of tether, which past we went
looking at it in silence, hindsight finds us content
that time took what it and how it and when it did so
to give context to exactly this passion, in this manner, undergo

and know it otherwise I wouldn't decide or choose
for other words or actions our coalescing I'd not use
I want to continue feeling the bruises and aches that strip me,
your skin pressed to mine, your wide eyes that slice me
open and remove my vocabulary to describe
the intoxication of motivation to let you my dreams to scribe

lover, finally, you render me a waul of sublime desire
and though at this hour I'm tired, I can't yet of you tire

The Gardener

There was once a girl who wanted to be a gardener. Through the course of love in her life something happened to her; strange and peculiar perhaps, but with a resounding feeling. It started when she cried a tear. And the tear followed the crease of her face before it fell and turned into a seed. She picked it up and held it; held onto it. And then, when, she thought she’d found the right place she planted it on his lips.

After awhile of watching, waiting, hoping, but not knowing it, having already spread it’s roots down and through his skin and mind and heart, it began to grow. And, did it grow quickly and strong, before long sprouting. It grew flowers and foliage that were bright, warm colours, filling up all the eyes placed upon them with a feeling of warmth and love and satisfaction. There became an abundance of leaves; skin soft to touch, holding the weight of paper and expelling a scent of fresh. The ground all around the two of them felt soft and earthy and you could almost taste the soul seeping up from where some of the roots had pressed just through the earth reaching for open blue arms.

So, before long, not having expected so - though no one ever does - she realised that she loved it. She had fallen in love with the strength and beauty of those stretching warm colours, which contained in them all she was proud of, admired, desired and knew as life. She loved all that they became from the beginning; as just a single tear sown with a tender hope.

Imbued in her love with the beanstalk-like stretch to the clouds so intense, she neared herself to it and didn’t even realise an assimilation taking place. She was sowing herself to it; deliberately, intricately and infinitely. Her hair stretched itself out longer and longer, broader and thicker with the coverage of the foliage and her body thinned in places with the branches as she likened herself with all her like of the everything. She smiled and was happy.

Then, one day, and it was a day just like all the other warm, comforting, immense days a sole leaf flickered and twitched and then began to fall, lifting swiftly upwards a few times in the invisible hand of the wind before descending slowly and softly to the ground. With the one, having touched the soft, cosy home of earth, another slipped silently away as though sliced with a small surgical knife making an incision to commence an operation. The leaf fell as the other and watching helplessly she tried to reach out and catch it but nothing happened. She looked in all of the directions she knew and could and noticed more of the leaves stepping off and away from her. She tried again, to stretch her arms and hands out to catch some of them and collect their warmth, but she had no hands to do so. Every part of her was bound to it and to him and all she could do was will every single one with all her might to stay a little longer. She watched them so closely that she could see the slight cold eating into the brightness of each of them a little already.

Soon they were falling and not even clinging to the air like the first. They were tumbling, heavier than before. Heavy now, not with life but with the anvil of time. Like magnets, gravity seemed to pull them apart and down. It was like a sunset was raining all around her as far as could be seen and there was no horizon left, the lines between all spans of time she knew were blurred in a tangerine, purple haze.

Eventually everything was around and beneath her and him in a mound of dimming, fading embers; a melancholy, pretty mosaic of pride and desire and love. She looked up and could see the clouds now closing the door of the sky once so open above and everything seemed heavy as though it might push her into the ground. But, the earth was now buried and hard and cracking at the roots in those places reaching for the last light. She felt inside her sown up and together self and sought a tear to revive the glow of the darkening tower, but found nothing. She looked for long enough and in the moments she did locate something to excrete, a small salty, saturated tear made it’s way tracing those creases, now longer and older and deeper. But for being so, they never made it to the bottom to drop. They just gathered or ran until they were damp stains that stung like sores and she couldn’t bare them any longer, so she just closed her eyes and remained.

If you go to her, there, now, you can still see her stretched up and out in the world but baring nothing and seeing nothing and though the clouds’ doors occasionally open up and the roots thicken up out of the earth, not a single leaf becomes. And the tears won’t turn to seeds.

other people waiting

we're not strangers anymore