the precision of that hand
deciding the dark
from the light.
underneath the diamond O
that flutters about your fingers,
the viscose scarves or linen dresses
that you may wear in summer.
if i strike you once
or twice to make
clich� of emotion, then
i
say it, believe it, test it,
defy it.
maybe you could twist my frozen
arm around your charming neck?
((for we both know it fits there best))
barefoot breezes contend the winter
tempest, gale or incidence.
make it matter; mind or sorrow,
i ache to make my
back bend.
the faithless vision,
soul, scent & being.
or possibility,
chance.
i have lived too many years in a day.
it was everyone but you,
it was bound by definition,
cocktail glasses, arctic air
it burns so.
plans for supper, tea & breakfast,
in between hot drinks, the magnolia
flowers that i dream up in a daze.
the tiles sequential ((or reverential?)),
waving rhetoric that no one
cares to understand.
a desk piled high with books & pencils,
ink that travelled miles across a page.
i always wanted; i never needed
i always thought; i never knew.
it's fate, it's crazy, it's beautiful
((for i've followed that order in waking))
it is a spell that asks, asks, asks
it cannot give.
clocks in corners tickticktocking
so patiently, so faithfully, so breezily.
whispers of traffic fuming their way
into the room. pausing at uneven
intervals. lights glow yellow, old &
smoking like an ominent intention.
an aversion from grace, or did i pass you
in the street? a revolution cries out for
passion of the quiet kind; for pressing
against the ground. for a secret alleyway,
to a secret door, to a secret chair,
where sits the mouth
that ruins it all.
the blood that fails to make it
to the tips of toes, might
be taken to the extremes of
my existence. if i am cold
by foresight or hindsight,
then i am cold by candlelight.
it took a step too far,
or one too soon.
the evil eye of
a glimmering moon.
i get so empty in the evening.