Broken Clouds

Love poem for the man from Manchester who broke my heart

A mighty wave washes

us ashore

to a realm eclipsed

with fragrant rain,

soft words bursting--

perennial crocuses

in the soft earth,

as spring approaches

the blossoming south winds

make haste

enliven our psyches, so

florid & breathless.

The bright hues of gold and blush

retreat to the hands of the angels,

L’Heure blue rises from its tomb.

We are soaring through the peripheral

two roads known & unknown

where the sunshine

parts from twilight’s sapphire,

lovers may depart

their kisses are ghostly moths

fluttering in in the space between

imagination, repose,

and regret--

a formless slumber.

I am lost in our corridors,

Hecate draws her torch.

Eight years of you

in and out

of my sorrows,

as I long for the sanctity

of your deviance, of your sweetness.

How could I find my way?

I stand at the moonlit port

in dreams.

so you’ll come back.

come back.

Come back to me.

You are the roses of my soul,

the thorns that prick my lips

bleeding

ravenously.

The looking glass

conjures a reflection

of the kiss

that can defeat absence.

Present and mine,

present and yours.

Lover,

relinquish my veil

unfold my thighs

release nectar upon my heart.

At noon we will rest.

Longing does not have a demise,

it is the honey showers,

a baptism, and eating

the body of Christ--

honeycomb in our teeth

Twilight rises as a shadow, of

loss, temples in ruin.

Hope illuminates

the looking glass, resting

in the meadow.

there is no painful yearning

merely a reflection,

a truth.

a cross-dimensional truth.