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Kris Aug 27
on a windy late-summer evening
I stood barefoot on an open balcony
(it was not our own); I had slipped into
a wine-red dress that hugged my skin,
I wore it for your eager eyes alone;

my own eyes regarded the wounded city,
I felt a dark fog resting heavily upon it
but pockets of light peaked through;
individual squares of life illuminating
framed windows, spirited and awake

I languished over the shadows cast
as your lips settled with love on mine
I soon lost the thought as your fingers
traveled across the expanse of my skin
awaiting feverishly to be explored in time

all the while you gripped my wrists
and pulled them firmly behind my back;
restraint to allow for a different freedom,
and a hint of the rhapsody to come
(I reveled in every touch, in every verse)

then came the reverberating rhythm,
the instinctual beat familiar to all mankind;
it began slowly but soon grew more urgent
and I sang along in deep, drawn-out sighs
that grew into hushed but ardent cries

your hand slid past like swift waves
and firmly spread over my open mouth
your palm consumed the fervent fire
dawning from the depths of my heart
(I reveled in every verse, in every touch)

we danced beneath the waning moon;
it lingered high above us out of reach and
cloud-enshrouded, but it hummed along
until this aria, like the glow streaming down,
for the current moment adjourned;

at last, as though to softly intimate the end--
a tender caress and a satisfied breath,
like the final few notes of a lyrical line;
I turned my wistful gaze back to the city,
it seemed more serene to me somehow
Kris Aug 24
I want to sip you like rich whiskey
slowly imbibe my parched veins with
your gentle warmth, your bold flavors;

you rouse calm courage from my depths
on soothing waves of golden spirit
flowing through me like melted honey;

and these patient ripples, they heal;
they fill the cracked, jagged crevices,
disinfect the pestilent doubts within me;

I am intoxicated to my very bones
dancing to the crackling of your fire
two open palms held up to a heart-flame;

I come to know you more with each sip
I savour the smokiness on my tongue
I revel in the euphoria it brings

I keep sipping,
I keep sipping...
Kris Jun 2020
you embodied the moon;
with a subtle luminescence
streaming down to meet
my gaze, you mesmerized

that silver ring of halo
anchored above my head
a reminder of the heavens
ideal celestial bodies

there tugs at our psyche
some primordial echo
at the sight of lunar light;
that same glow you provide

waves enveloping the shores
of our ocular perception,
serving as a ceremonial
ablution of lesser thoughts

for one cannot lay eyes on
the moon without being struck
by more profound reflections
and emotions much nobler,

more mysterious than all the
unexceptional ones that arise,
empty and inconsequential,
amid the searing mood of sun

I bask in the reprieve you lend
an open breath taken sweetly,
lungs swimming in the evening air
moon-struck I shall remain
Kris Jun 2020
what use, these hands that grip the lyre,
that bleed the solemn wails of fresh despair
when they cannot hold the hourglass figure
of his beloved, now cracked and bereft of grain

a vagabond Orpheo became, feet heedlessly
drifting towards any direction Zephyr declared
singing hopeless songs to sympathetic ears
for who had not lost, who had not grieved?

even as his feet marched on, his mind did not
unable to reconcile his loss, tangled in the net of
times past, his gaze was always fixed behind him
unwilling to face the light of a future uncertain

he had no hopes of warmth, only scorching rays
on his already worn eyes deteriorating from all
the visages, his ears battered from all the voices
that fail to replace the memory where hers still laid.

is it any surprise then, with her finally near again,
he could not refrain at that crucial moment--upon the
lips of Gaia, already tasting the honeyed air of prior dreams--
to strain his neck back and gaze at his love once more?

a violent shock must have shuddered through him when
the form he saw was nothing like the memory gently
nestled in his mind and fed with the saccharine milk
of nostalgia, the laurel-haloed figure she embodied

he witnessed standing there a homunculus
in place of supple flesh and bone; eyes flashing shades
unrecognisable, a grotesque mouth contorted and rancid
the wasting outstretched arm bloated and frigid

this shadow was his Eurydice no longer, only a manikin,
the rotting remnants that were not yet granted rest
an echo of his attempt to undo the will of Thanatos;
he now recognized fates far worse than death

he brought a few drops of Lethe's water to his lips
(it had a bitter heaviness that he had not imagined
but with a fragrant-sweet aftertaste like lavender)
and he returned to the world of the living, contented.
I had written a poem about the myth from Eurydice's perspective, so now here's one from Orpheo's.
Kris Jun 2020
you heard the pat-pat-patter of delicate rain
on the sharp-edged lips of fractured panes
that tear apart wandering hands that dare
circumvent the glassy ridges lining the frame

you'd be on your way, at the ripeness of red
germinating in the garden on which you infringed;
a bitter souvenir for meddling in feral fields
which foreign touch serenity seldom sustains

but you did not tread with violent strides,
you sat down instead and sang a humming tune
melodies that accompanied the rhythmic rain
and matched the ardour of thunder resounding

my ears delighted at the euphony of your breath
and my skin rose, invigorated by the shift in air,
gradually aglow--much like heavy mountains in shade
illuminated by the slow warmth of dawn's gaze
Kris May 2020
I fell asleep in your arms only once

we'd spent countless evenings in embrace,
whispered our histories like fairy tales;
but when the moment of sleep descended,
we always parted,
instead lying side by side,
like parallel lines

but not that night

maybe it was because winter's lungs
sighed winds extra frigid,
or because we were wrapped in
blankets of sleep-laden lassitude;

perhaps after so long of carrying on,
the sole person keeping myself together,
I needed another to hold the pieces in place;
to give my mind a rest,
maybe you realized this
and didn't let go this time

whatever the reason, I lingered inside
the curl of your arms, your skin embracing mine,
could feel us fall into place, all my edges
fitting perfectly within the gaps in yours that night;

you cradled me like the moon
the quiet cadence of your breath serenaded,
and I could feel your warmth radiate through me
and that warmth imbued my blood,
and that warmth made sense

I fell asleep in your arms only that night
but that one night was enough
Kris May 2020
every moment was accompanied by a swift flip of the hourglass,
spotted specks of sand flowing freely at first, no different than
the vast expanse of the ocean shores--seemingly boundless
but soon the particles fell victim to the pull of gravity,
gyrating and swirling about, without any agency
and then they descended, like a drowning victim,
to that single point; each sphere reaching into
the open palm of an event horizon, waiting
shuffled into an orderly line, one by one,
reaching the crowded checkpoint,
waiting their turn, a breath
caught in trepidation,
a singular moment,
in space
and suddenly
slipping through,
entropy taking over
spit out the other end
disoriented and half digested
rejoining the others scattered there
on the floor of the ceiling in this warped world
yet soon enough exuding a sigh of relief, a drop of sweat
wiped away, for before the last of them had reached this side
and left a desperate vacuum in the mirror end of their universe,
they felt the center of gravity shifting again, an acknowledgement
that for the time being they had not run out of the sands of time yet.
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