| Telephone Conversation | | The Siren | ||
| Ending | | Epilogue | Gone | | I Love You |
| Telephone Conversation | | The Siren | ||
| Ending | | Epilogue | Gone | | I Love You |
700 miles (give or take) of copper wire
when I think of you
the sky falls
now it is over it wasn't very long
in days of dust and
I am not here for falling skies
the writing on the wall is my projection
weakness calls this place a storm
speak to me with eyes of fire
I cast your broken arrows to the ground
so never let a living light of day
TELEPHONE CONVERSATION
separate us
in protective anonymity
and privacy
that eases our shyness
and fearful reserves but when I see you
tomorrow (or next month) I know
we'll regret
this impulse to confide
faces closed speech awkward
ending in time the first time
we talk this way
face to face
without fear of vulnerability
then (and only then) will we have something
even more precious
than this first honest conversation
with its armour of 700
miles of copper wire between
us
I feel passion
rising to the surface a tidal
wash of pleasure as I get sucked
in the under
tow of your embrace take me
down
seaweed tangled in the curls caught
on brittle bones and pieces
of shells
flotsam fodder for the words that flow
within without you and surrounded by you
pull me from the wreckage sound
the siren captured in your lines
blue shards among daisies
I pick one up
hold it to my eye
the world is simple
stars sparkle in grass
I twist one
in my hair
run barefoot through
the scattered sky
the sun plummets down
caught as a yellow ball
from hands arc high
where the sky once was
and I say goodbye without regrets
(or at least a few) and softly
wave away your face but I can wish
and truly do
that you had known me in a
summer month
late long shadows
I am golden bright scratched faded
softly tattered and the silent
crease lines of confusion
disappear
from in between eyes hands feet turning
into laughing cheerful sunburnt
freckled brown
and gleaming damp
smooth flesh and red blonde curls
(at least in summers past the peace
was certain and contained)
chickenlittle died of fright
I am not here for starvation
loving as I do the very young and old
tears that flake the cake makeup
life under it all is fresh-cut hay
I shall never see
among us eyes blink smile
I am born to paint a world with words
paint fresh-cut hay
live for words eat a lot make love
I shall never last
already gone
caress me with the flame of your desire
pour sweet wine from grapes of purple rage
and write the words of passion to the page
when mortal shadows whisper without sound
you come in dreams to haunt me in my sleep
and drown me in the sorrow that you keep
surround us and protect us from the fray
with shouts of fire words and gentle touch
remember that I love you so so much