Thursday, April 7, 2016

' and the night...'

The dark night holds many memories of a love- supreme.
Of skin, two shades- mixing, melding, melting
Low voices kindling high burn
As disheveled limbs murmur amongst the contortion of sweat.
Who were we in that corner room
At the house on Wintergardens?
Even now, the rhetoric blames my initiative.
Loose, twinkling stars bring back an avalanche of needs
That were once fulfilled by the steam of his ghost..
Yes, for even then, that presence we shared stopped time
Feasting on the cataclysmic source of our magnetism.
So many secrets fill these lines,
The girth of these aged memories bulge
Beneath the weight of one 'still living' heart
Grieving at the loss of its partner.
How many ways can I recant this desolation when it hits?
Hissing above the tidal wave of that touch laid to rest...
The moon is cold and without redemption
When I look up into the blank stare of black sky.
Out there among cloudless heavens
The quiet call echoes like a mountain lion's growl.
He's hunting in memory for more time
To fill the coffers of all we generated between us.
Torn by a burr-laden whip, ripping pores away
From the translucent outline of musculature gone south.
The movement of youth was deliberate and starved
Feeding without regard of temporal gluttony
For who can say in the aftermath of decades lost
That such dining came at too heavy a cost?
Would that I could embolden the rupture of such reminiscing
Into something far more lenient in nature
But in doing so, such transactions would diminish the ardent meaning
Of love locked in time, locked in fortitude, locked in grandeur
Robbing us both of the music we choreographed
When life and the night were yet young.

No comments:

Post a Comment