Morning's sweet hostage
Oh, sorrow!
my breath
escapes
to be captured once again
between your lips
and tomorrow
Let me not
acquire
my release from these
restraints
She once healed him,
A harbinger of his hurried heart,
His affliction so easily remedied
With collaborative colloquy
Or a muted gaze.
Her presence once signalled
Entwining souls, encircling arousal,
Disbelief that the passing years had other plans.
Come September,
Occasionally seen
Upon her tongue,
She travels north a bit
Only to return home.
To tropical Mexico, she goes,
Meandering the plantations,
The sun intensifying
The pale yellow of her wings.
The ambrosia is sweet.
She is Enantia albania....
She is melite.
What if
Cries of, 'What!'
Would they
He'd carried her off when he wanted to,
For the world to see,
Tuxedos and taffeta frantic?
'Why!' 'How!' 'Who!' and 'Hey!'
And the smelling salts
Provided by ushers and maidens.
Have laughed any louder, he and she,
Perhaps any happier
Than they were when she uttered simply, 'Yes'?
I wished it,
'Let his poisoned peculiar
And it was.
The disease became God.
Choosing destiny
As my path,
My dungeon's facade,
Thus replacing one
As procurer of my fate.
How long before I bid
On Hell's vast estate?
I would wish no more
Save one meager plea,
Yet rot inside me!'
Extract from me what you will
Allow me, grant me
With each painful reminder
My will, if you desire
For you own me, Master
Lord, Almighty Sire
Granted, I'm undeserving
Yet I thirst to drink
To think I'm still learning
Remind me, Sir
With your guidance, my former self
Is slowly becoming a blur
My seasons have merged
in a dry river bed
under his skin
beneath the ground
beyond the horizon
upon a landscape
reachable not by foot
or sky or sea
but within the folds
of the soul's passport...
Possibly,
A dry pain,
Aware, awake,
There is no greater pain,
Yet not having experienced any such as this would surely make it so.
She calls it.
No tears to soften her features, no liquor to dull this searing revelation of self.
Attempting to book a flight
Back to 10pm....when none of this mattered.
Once upon a twisted existence
Manipulated under the guise
Teased and raped by fickle fingers,
Left for naught nor righteous reason;
Subsisted a pathetic pawn,
A puppet clasped in the claws of Hades
Not the hands of Avalon.
Of an innocent emotion
Who dared to succumb, naively led,
To a lord with the nectar potion.
A troubling sight for eyes.
Once upon the final act,
The curtains did not rise.
Tis the time to ponder.
Tangled strings and broken dreams
Fare not in blessed's yonder.
The first day of the first month of the best of her life,
She'll have already packed and stacked the rest;
Turned the hands of time, watched it fly;
Carefully wrapped and stamped Cupid.
She arrived long before the final boarding call
To somewhere once too far away,
Typically refusing one last look behind.
One would think
Spoon's tempo consistent
Forgive my manners
My essence blends well
I'd have learned my lesson by now
to sip, not speak
to listen, not choke
watching your lips discard me
I accept a lump or two
to appease, to please
today will be the last until....
I seem to have lost them
somewhere between lust and sympathy
spilling life across your tapestried womb
given the sheen
of your well-travelled bosom
I've soiled your thoughts
alas, a momentary interruption
I feel as though I'm being plunged
these extremes rocket me
absorbing life's enormities and simplicities
I am left with my dark thoughts,
christ, am I being tested?
my will is nonexistent
it is a survival instinct, I suppose...
Thus love...
If, by chance, a lesser man
Yet, if by a sweeten'd phrase,
I would not have known thy face,
Thy gaze, as yet, 'twould not have turn'd;
I've come to the conclusion
With each gentle exhalation,
Slumbering encumbrances
A refugee pawned,
Would she fetch forever,
Hobbyists muse,
Breathing Zim, a work in progress.
into profundity once again...
my heart is screaming, silent to most,
excrutiatingly loud to mine own ears...
into the heights of Elysium,
fling me into the depths of Gehenna...
without you, there would be nothingness...
I would be mere matter,
perhaps existing...perhaps not....
while absorbing the sun and wind and fog
through my pores...
I would wish to hear
the sound of my own breathing...
and my tears are not good company...
the spirits complement my mood,
the enormity of my feelings...
for I will surely fail,
but not for lack of studying,
absorbing every angle...
when my thoughts are of you,
which is every waking moment...
and in sleep, you smother my dreams,
except when my subconscious mind
explodes...overloads...
for if I were to think of you
within and without every moment,
I would surely go mad with desire...longing...
Had cross'd my fated path to stand
Before me...spoken words less grand
A nimble kiss, syncopic haze,
I'd been spared lost yonder days
Foreign, then, as thine embrace,
Lips mine own dared dream to taste
Others 'fore, cross'd and spurn'd;
This bridge, alas, I will not burn
that his claret once coursed
through my veins such that
it does this very moment.
exhaltation remains tangled
amongst the red tape,
raped as we have been by trust.
threaten to dismantle
our hearts' haven...
let us not allow the awakening.
Contemplative paths prevail
as my soul wanders
amidst the abyss of his
promised kiss.....
what price would she garner
within another's arms?
gutted and skinned,
a writhing soul as yet intact?
pointing out flaws
upon the canvas,
a reproduction of a masterpiece.
*All poems are the sole property of B. Rudolph.*