Wednesday, August 24, 2005

esprit de corps [a poem]

flowers in heat
bulbs lit
hold us in limpid scarlet light
your spine I trace with my lips
and pose another
kiss in the penumbra
like the question that has
only one reply

petals poised silently
breathe in as you
breathe out as me
a gasp and again
fingers wet, a shoulder scratched
and I’m wounded
much deeper than this

your colour is red, I decide
my flesh tinted under your gaze
six thrown pillows
on the bed
and again
six thrown pillows
and a candle

there are words I cannot say
it’s against all odds
and protocols
those words I say, anyway

I will be the mirror of your heart
to show you
to you
and again
and again
I press your hand
so I never forget
those parts I can never hold

after morning coffee
there are streets to be wandered
ablaze and dazed
past beings from the wrong side
of the silvered glass
weak and shimmering

to me is entrusted
as an aid in this passage
the strong low scent of you
and again
the strong low scent of me

I hold it close like a talisman
as you will that last beat
of my heart
you plucked from my chest
and mixed with your own blood


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