Friday, April 8, 2011

My Love. VI: Bruised Lavender

my love,

the air of your hands remembers the curves of heat and the rich dark loam of my body, the silver bell of the moon draws you into its breath and the stars in there course will once again dust your fingers with my passing.

your eyes will speak the bruised lavender of my ache, and the unfurling gold of morning questions the mystery of tides and the dark scent of fertility salts your body as the green roots of air leaves my hands to fuse as the silences of miles drift between us, and we surrender ,we drag nets to capture rocks and flashing sky and long to bind the time fleeing from our trembling bodies.

my love, my mouth measures the burnt remains of you, and i taste smoke and soot , blood and lust
and in your craving you embrace the darkness of my mouth, and found our loneliness and hunger.

and you surrender to distances, letting the red hair of twilight cascade down to the crypt of evening and you tried in your way to quench me and my mouth dreamt of your breasts and the shoals of your hips, but in the futility of my mouth you abandon your body and my tongue tasted the emptiness and silt of despair, and in the cinders of your remains, my mouth burns with the awful tang of our loss