white
wet white drenched things, skin seeping, ice and heat, melting, liquid softness; that embrace; and eyes that drink, drink, drink…
again
look, the sun’s come out again, oh, the rain’s gone again, springs’ flowers are leaving again, look, the carp is belly up, look, everything is green again, look, you are gone, why are you smiling at a peek-a-boo game? betrayal is my love language too!
let me
give me the things that move under the earth; those glorious dark underthings; the mirror that holds no reflection of its own, but demands total abandonment; intoxicate me, nothing pulls me than the gravity of your absorption; let me take,
taken
i wanted to drop the lightest of presence under your lampshade, lightly, too afraid, but not enough for you to forget; ‘lightly,’ i said, ‘lightly, like the softest breeze against your cheek;’ but now every gesture, word and sigh calls to be erased; absence yawns and i wish to be taken,
blue
i remember rivulets, blue like a clear sky, silvery too, reaching through like veins branching through bodies, and i wanted to drink from it, to be one of its many tributaries, feeding and being fed, unblooded skin and blued; somehow endless
uncorded
she only is when her love for the sun dies, uncorded; light must die for her eyes to see, and who doesn’t love her? every poem and ballad has been written to her name; i am not sure why, she is only a rock with burrowed radiance; why must she shine so?
slower
i knew the ending before it began; like two roads slipping over and away, i hadn’t known then that the tides are not only one-way; the script ripped from my hands, i hadn’t known i had any part to play but that its ended without having asked me, had i known, i would have read…
the face
It searches for its reflection; in the glare of the kitchen window, swirling suds, the scrape of the wooden chair, shutting door, clink of silver on the rim of the coffee mug, it searches in the footsteps, in the sighs, in the click-clack of the keyboard, it searches everywhere but the face,
red
it made my eyes flip inward, only the whites showing, full moons–i wish i could drink those salted waters as sweetness; they painted my hands and feet red, they do not know, they have always been red, bleeding was the birthright—but, bleeding for you was my promise,
sunsets
i hate sunsets. i hate it when it dips down the horizon, bleeding through and through, till everything darkens, and you think it’s all over, until you see a million more sun spilling all over the sides, overfill—
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MindWraith 