I have no right to you
I mean no wrong for you
Somewhere there is a line
betwixt the you and the me
Existing as a nethertime:
An unerring, endless rhyme
That winds and curls its way
Through the world’s winnowing
weary wantonness…
Beneath that heavy breath
where commitment lies
on the same bed,
breeding different dreams.
Dreams that effervesce into the need fulfilled.
There is where the Labyrinth
holds true love captive and interred,
yet alive; propped up propitiously
On plinths carved from the purest alabaster
Like an Assyrian monument– Adamantine clad,
snowy white and gleaming with bees wing promise.
Unlike these feet of clay I sometimes stand upon,
cracked and unreliable –their ability to hold up
a cupped heart and wade in its truth’s elixir
severely impaired by wretched years
of feverish denial–the pang of armor piercings
taking their toll
and paying its charges
In the melancholic song of drowned bodies
wrapped in fisherman’s net…
strung in the mirrors of spiraling linearity
caught in a tangle of reveries…
Perhaps we should let scarred
Silence lean against our desire
If the you, the me, the we
Can bear the weight against our
pearled threshold in the just beyond
Yet…
I don’t think I could …
The weight would collapse upon me,
Like a house of cards after your first
Warm breathed want upon my neck…
The one that says,
“I searched for you in every bar, passing car,
and face and bottle , but I guess you were hiding…”
The portrait of our eternal will
Glide like the pride of a swan
Painted in solemn hues of
Sands, heather and small pines
Sweeping along teary vistas
Under the glittering eye of nights
Van Gogh sunflower bright
With love’s indulgent mind.
One day…
I know…
Time will tell our tale.
Closed Captioned For The Thinking Impaired 