My love bird – a carrion crow
(unwished) Who’s beak reeks of narcissus (the scent of thee) Let me call the black rumble of wings to fill skies and sheets with the thunder of your feet. (Ah! Love. What A thing it is to be feathers on the wall and flesh in ice.)
She wore mountains round her neck
(“No, lower.”) Peaked with scented minarets (Softer and sweeter than strawberries, grander than a psalm.) In the gulch between words I offered you a prayer and you wounded me with a poem. I watched you move like a summer night to disrobe the cover of your collected works -a landscape of fire and blood that beats a wardrum deep in my hungry river. Your petals pressed against my lips to drown , to drown gladly. She wore mountains round her neck, and I wore her ankles with a smile.
Let me breathe the smoke between your thighs,
The way a drowning man breathes water - my Queen of Oysters. I will sup til hungers end the elixir then sup, and sup again the banquet of your flesh with the thousand tongues of my fingertips and eyes. This Alligator that hides amongst daisies - let him sleep in the black garden of your hair O concubine of Saturn Open slow to the brush rough hands spring petals that gambol and gyre in great prickles through the spine and scalp. Let us run to the moon, together or sleep til the noon, apart. My Queen of Oysters, Let me sleep in the black garden of night.
The winter here is proper,
not like the weak attempts of childhood. I put on one of my father's old records, and sinkdrown into the swirl of old memories - the scent of oil and wood his workshop the musicdrone of cicada's (that signaled the arrival of hot summer sweat and slick) the scent of musk mixed with coffee grinds and bodyperfume made sick with wine. Old roofs in the distance - redwashed and orange by the blood of a dying sun, trickle blue smoke from the mouth of an ancient- Baal of cold nights Suburban Moloch. Hands are turned palecold. Dove's once , dexterous fish now - white and roasting on the hot whisper from a cup of coffee, sometimes they (mechanically or artfully) invoke the means to my own blue trickle. A time machine to that junkyard of stolen moments we christen "memory". Yet the sun still bleeds and the sky is cauterised by it's sacrifice.
I sank a lie in the harbour,
watched it sink like a stone. Your beauty an apostle asked me to live quite alone. The streets are empty of your laughter wild birds still flitter and fly, The children carry on playing as every rose withers and dies. The scent of your dew on my fingers, the place where death goes to die. A memory that breathes as it lingers on the fringe of an innocent sigh. The black dress you left here one evening full of bats and sinister themes, drapes an elegant coffin in both life and my dreams. Snapshots carved in my pillow of the place where death goes to die, chipped with a sharpened halo once trapped between your thighs. I found the place we once roamed with my back turned to the sea, a quick snap of my fingers called death to die with me. Instead he sang as a singer "If I go you'll never be free, in dream this love will linger, in song and in memory." The streets drowned in your laughter, wild birds flitter and fly, I light a candle on the altar at the place where death goes to die.
Inspired by a line from a Leonard Cohen song.
With us wrapped In the wings of our sweat Ignoring the muted call of birds And the bright, Screaming Sun. I pull you close, Lose my fingers In the passion Of alligator eyes- The cheese sharp Scent of your **** Closed it's noose. And I found myself upon the floor craving a halo. But the saints are dead, and bleed like violins. The unmistakable relief Of your curves Are distant now; Where once we stalked the city's Whispering night; Now we entertain widows Full of secrets. Only distant eiderdown Holds our halo Holds our breath And monochrome death In relief of early mornings
Dance me to the end
with your beauty in each hand Dance me, lover Dance me. through the shades of beer and the nights we missed let me hold you tight and baptise with a kiss. I will take my body I will put it on trial. for a moment of your cruelty in the summer of your smile. Dance me, lover, Dance me. Dance me to the end with your beauty in each hand to the pyre of your love in the summer of your smile.