Skin Deep

I sheered the black sheep,
That wool itched so, anyway.
It weighed me down in the heat of your indifference.
Woven cloak of your shame.
Your shame,
My other name.
Awarded to me like a trophy,
By you, my referee
How dare I not do as you did,
Unpresentable me.
Not draped upon the arm of a rich man,
Not sipping from a golden shoe.
Pride is a subtle thing,
A fragile wing on a tiny creature.
And subjectivity forgotten,
In the law of your land.
The tragedy of funerals had,
with empty graves.
Burying the dead,
while they still walk and talk,
But not to me.
And what beauty I inherited from you,
You, who bore me here.
I can only show
In pictures
and a looking glass.
Faded memories
And broken dreams.

Anna

Anna,

how I love the way

your name feels in my mouth,

what can I tell you,

but that the memory of you,

is as if from a day long forgotten,

though perhaps you live in my future,

like a dream.

And when I look at you,

my breath is stolen,

as if your beauty

abides death herself,

for you ,

my dear Anna,

are the embodiment

of a time,

stolen from my nubile fingers,

a fire that burns

like a star,

far away in the midnight sky,

yet my body

sings the song

of that heat,

every time our eyes alight,

your mouth ignites a flame,

with your every smile.

My Anna,

though I lost you

before we ever met,

perhaps now that I’ve found you,

our hearts will unite,

and at last,

we will never

forget.

The Good Mother

You lay upon me,

so small and heavy,

as I shook with the strain

of your shimmering arrival.

Tenderly, I held onto you,

crushed by the weight of

my duty,

awed by the power of my love

for you,

this delicate creature,

a part of my body,

yet separate,

my child hand huge

in your miniature grasp.

Together, we forged new discovery.

Each of us traversing terrain,

foreign,

I sheltered you from monsters and villains,

fought them off,

or tried to,

enraptured by your

blossoming mind,

ravenous curiosity,

enduring pursuit of

the next adventure.

My love a cavern,

so deep and loyal,

I could get lost in it,

reminding myself I

had to let go,

to not strangle the flower,

to not cage the bird,

yet how could I know,

that with my love freely given,

you would cast me off,

like so many spurned belongings,

boxes of things

left behind

as you hopped from place to place,

me,

who smiled as you tasted your

first fruit,

your face alight with wonder,

who hugged herself,

arms tightly wound,

as you were carted away

for the first day of school.

Discarded,

rendered mute,

by the coldness

of your indifference.

You buried me

in a grave

of your Self.

The Massacres

When we died,

some shed tears,

but they hid them,

for fear that

they, too,

would be taken,

slowly dissolved

by the lapping

flames,

licking and dancing

to the music of our

screams and cries,

as we separated ourselves

from the pain

that for a brief

moment,

was our only

tie

to life.

Proserpine

Can they not see

the darkness that surrounds you,

swept away, you were,

to another of your “Firsts”,

though unlike your first steps,

your first smile,

your first kiss,

you are thrust under

the arm of Hades,

struggling against the unseen walls

of Earthly fortress,

like Ophelia, drifting away

to nothing,

no longer a babe,

though they think you

a child still;

This threshold of

the unwilling bride,

wed we are to

the darkness of

transition,

never knowing the other side,

or if light will greet and restore us,

or leave us buried in a

cold hard grave,

I shudder for you,

at the sentiments

echoed

“these are the best years of your life,”

and

“you have everything ahead of you,”

and

“you have everything going for you,”

for though they see you as a child,

you rock and tremble at the

mountain and force building

within you,

yearning to be free,

not knowing where to run,

just run,

only,

alone is the only truth you know,

and solace flows as tears in the night,

silently,

not knowing why the dreams

that gave you comfort

died,

leaving only ashes in their wake.

You are lost in a sea

of familiar faces,

no one seeing you

as they smile as

they always have.

Not knowing that your

robot smile

only echoes their blindness,

as you walk the halls

as a ghost,

haunting your

child self,

not yet free,

not yet ready,

just

waiting.

For can they not see

that your pain is as real

as anyone’s?

Your darkness as

dark,

and frightening?

And though your mother’s voice

calls from the Earth above,

it gives no comfort,

for you are away,

not the child you were,

and

not yet the woman

you will become.

Never being warned

of the silent screams

of the blooming flowers.

Sweet Wine

Lips like mine,

soft, tender,

entwined we are

as we paint

each other

with our fingertips.

How luxurious it is,

breast to breast,

such gentle power

we share,

as we take each other

higher,

Oh,

the scent of you,

the way you know my

body,

like your own,

How hard we hold

and grip

and want,

compelled by the

beauty of it.

Invocation of Bromios

It is under your strong hands

Bromissimo,

that I shudder, exalted,

head thrust back upon

your shoulder,

as you hold me

pinned tightly to your chest

our breath united

in a dance of silent yearning,

beginning as the moon rises,

her light intoxicating the

shadows that she casts.

Your hands play me

like the song

that you sing

huskily for my ears only,

strumming me deftly,

rising and falling in your

sweet serenade.

Your language is

sensation,

I see behind my

darkened eyes

the birth of mountains,

heaving and rocking

in great rising pitches,

landing spent

upon the landscape.

O, Bromissimo,

sing to me your song

of fauns,

cloven hooves

and horned heads

tossed in ecstatic defiance,

gifts of passion offered

like luscious fruits

ripened in the autumn sun,

dripping their sweet juices down

my chin.

Devour me with your

virile essence,

for you release me

upon the wind,

so that I might

ride the waves of

eternal bliss

if only for this moment,

wild, creature of the night,

unbridled fury,

my chanting is the rhythm

to your song,

as I become one with

the waters,

shimmering moonlight,

midnight dew.