Edna Ariyah Jean Smith
Sending you crossed kisses and looped hugs
Wishing for the longest goodbyes
You are just out of my reach
The vacuous glow of the monitor captivates me
and I forfeit my love to the pixels
How close you seem, until I lay down to rest and your absence becomes known
the blankets, thin, like you, but too thin to fill the void
The moon is too cold to replace your warmth
The cold reminds me of how much I missed you, I care not to remember.
The bitter taste of tea without you
the scent has no senses to tantalize
The study conveys the impression of empty
The silence we can't share
And the chair in which you might sit
is as lonely as ever with no company but dust
The harsh bite of nicotine on my lips
reminds me of yours
and I long for them.
Soft and bitter
like the cigarettes you so love
And the death I've learned to savor in your wake
Seeing words arranged beautifully remains reminiscent of you
And poetry, itself reminds me of your breath.
In the leaves at the bottom of the cup I see the day that we met
and in the sun I am reminded of how fond you were of the dark
and in the ashes of my loneliness I'm reminded of what's to become
I dreamt about how I wish
you were the boy you said
You crossed your T's you dotted your I's and your heart belonged to me.
Your touch was soft, you held me close, I felt your love, a love to boast
about and when it ended I had cried.
The boy I wished you were is gone.
Visions of him start to smear
as she looks into his eyes
His pain and screams a mystery to her
and all she sees is lies
He paid for this when her hatred grew
Not in gold or silver, but in life
in the currency of blood
into the purse of her knife
Once the image of an angel
now an incubus, most foul
Thinking back on her tears
she fails to notice his agonizing howls
And she sighs
and it's all getting old
The moment has passed
and she sees what she has done
The light in his eyes dims
and then he is gone
She sits down beside him
feeling warmth for the first time in years
Loosing control of tendons
Too numb to feel her own tears
Her love ran beneath them
like a sea of red regret
as she stroked his hair and closed her eyes
and kissed the lips of death
As we hold our tongues in our heads, like nuclear threats, we are sure that those three words, that simple three word voice command, will be the end of us both, in a beautiful bloodbath, sex like war.
Two entities struggling for power and satisfaction, an atomic blast that is sounded with a sigh and an arch. The aftermath, sheer destruction, nothing anymore dominant than the next, everything melting into itself and one another. An overwhelming lump of calm and submission.
A skirmish for primitive power and oneself. The treaty of two bodies, silent, secretly sweet, and sullen. A whitewash of disdain where passion had just been.
Sex like War
Anger is an Aphrodisiac
Hate is fuel for Passion
Love is and Instigator
We couldn't hate enough to love.
A dream is fading fast and I open my eyes
But I can feel loves warm breath on my neck
The color of the light that floods across the floor and over the edge of my bed.
I kiss loves forehead and walk to the window
Shades of Grey
The ice has glazed everything over and seems to have taken color with warmth.
Shiny, Cold, and Dead.
The bringer of my warmth and my life calls to me, telling me the world has stopped
And I lie with love once more...
And fade back to dreams
My mother is Mother Nature.
My mother is mother Earth.
She bore me like a seed and nourished me with her body.
Strong and true, even if abused and dirtied.
Cares for me with all she has, and all she will have
Envelops me in her love-zone to nurture and grow.
Will care for me even after I've grown tall and seeded my own.
She'll stomach the loss of all the riches that have been taken from her
Will hide her pain to keep me safe for as long as she can
And when she can't
When her rivers of tears run dry
and her mountain of strength cracks
When her burning core of a heart cools
and all does black and the flow has ended
She'll leave a story, a tell-tale rock
Of how she tried.
A sunny serenade of Cyan Skies
On a Strangely soothing Sunday afternoon
In the south wing
The White Rabbit tells me about
Beautiful Butterflies batting their wings
To the beat of a bohemian movement
and I blush at the gesture
The Mad Hatter tells me about
The Kevorkian crawdads clawing at each other
Under the crystal clear stream
Bent like a Candy Cane
And I cry for the dead.
I hear her, I hear her
But I also hear the
The Marsh Hare tells me about
The analytical anarchists armed with arms
Marching around the inner atrium screaming
"All hail Anarchy!", "All hail Anti-Society!"
Aiming for the heart
And I amaze myself
I hear her, I hear her
And because of her I hear
The chains and restraints
The Queen of Hearts tells me about
My fantasies of White Rabbits
My dreams of Mad Hatters
My imaginings of Marsh Hares
And how only she is real
The straps are too tight
The clothes too thin
The walls too thick
And she stabs me
With a Red Rose
All in white, The Queen of Hearts Says
Wake Up Alice
And now I can see
My sunny afternoon is shady
I am barred from my butterflies.
The Red Curtain Parts
The world was gray that morning
Sticky dew on the ground
Like sleep in the corners of my eyes
Feeling Empty and cold
I hear her departure
The Final Act of Chasity Donloe had begun.
A rainy day, in a harsh city
In a steely room the smelled of iron
Was when she took
Her final bow.
Wrapped in white, Accented in red
Was a mask
The face of a Love
Enveloped in fuchsia hair
Soft, wide lips, and cold
The audience sighs in recognition
The mystery solved.
Carted away on steely wings
Hearing the cry of a lonely mother
Feeling the grip of an angry brother
I forget my line
And the curtain
The end of Chasity's Act.
No Applause Please,
Not until all
Have made their exits
Liner runs thin
as I examine the skin
where I look for a tell-tale mark
Left of a ring that would prove
I'm not alone.
(it's not there)
My back arches and
my body quakes
as deep inside
Infantile sexuality wakes
as my lips let fly
assumed and guessed sighs
of fabricated pleasure
(whatever that is)
They did not teach me these things
I was left to assume
as hearts often do
when they are kept in a room
and ushered away from the pains and joys
I stare into a mirror
and I stare back
Until all of a sudden
my smile cracks
and I'm left to stare
into the eyes of one
born to lose.
I hug warm pillows
and stroke my own hair
Until I realize he
and will never be there
and I'm left to assemble
a Shattered Glass Heart
with nothing but hammers for tools
But then I see myself
beauty and flaws defined
and at this point I know
the only glass heart I need
even in pieces, it retains it's strength
and waits to be whole again
So dormant I sit
mesmerized by the prisms the pretty pieces make
as I wait
for a true artist to come
and give this
Shattered Glass Heart
with the heat of reassuring and shared existence
and the grace of gentle words and sweet kisses.