Perig3e

Perig3e Jan 2011

Made me smirk,
throughout this day,
you with your iPad,
me, a converted Underwood,
text-ing through this curtained medium,
to wrest, impress, express,
probing for that come hither glance,
of which the very promise does so entrance.

Perig3e Jan 2011

Joy in desire

Joy in desire and my sole desire toy
Is my mad passion, I lute from on far
My love an unknown woman like a star;
built in dreams no waking will destroy
A placid place far from life's deploy;

By spirit breathless to store the silver bar
Of twilight beyond dawn-gates stood ajar,
And raised on Paradise, a dazzled boy;
To look first upon the sea's inlet foam
In the first beginning; in star stud night
Chiffon the mistress musk on high;
Tho no celibate a two ball groom, nor Greece, nor Rome,
Hero to misdeed, the heads of state incant;
I adore thee, my love, 'tis my inflamed chant.

Perig3e Jan 2011

In the way that sugar

In the way that sugar
desiccates fresh ginger,
pucker for me dear,
and receive my good knight kiss

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Footnote: Try this at home. Ingredients; a seal-able jar, thin (1/16th") slices of fresh ginger root, white to medium granular sugar. Place sliced ginger in the jar, pour sugar to cover ginger by half to full inch. Seal jar and vigorously shake. Let stand 48 hours. Stir liquid and add a very small amount of hot water if liquid is granular. Use liquid syrup like Vermont maple syrup. Honest.

Perig3e Jan 2011

Us

Us,
not
us in any common sense,
our skin pod hulls,
nursed by different rains,
pulled from divergent fields,
shucked under different moons,
no, not us
in any common sense,
but us
in a deeper vain,
not as in fruited seed,
chaste to the disappointments
of common ground,
chaste to the harness
of sun baked sweat,
no,
us as in
a deeper sense,
an us
that is rarely found,
but in poesy
we both profound.

Perig3e Jan 2011

I think of you

I think of you
crocheting words,
quietly,
unobserved
by your husband,
watching TV,
in **** gray socks.

Perig3e Jan 2011

the Word

From within the convoluted mass,
under the thatched dome
and behind the aqueous lights;
across untraceable connections,
through routes bridged
and those bridged out;

madly scavenging backyards—
secret lattice stairs leading to
three stage subterranean cellars;
retracing swale worn steps
through made-up rooms, and
higher still,

to the cobweb dormer attic,
grabbing. Thumping. Tossing.
Disgorging the till and tailings
until the exasperation mounts
like the minds bulk, to locate

a single word— not the perfect word,
but the only word,
which, tongue bowed and harped,
will cavort delightedly with its neighbors.

Perig3e Jan 2011

There will be a time

There will be a time
when we are warmed
by a banked fire,
when sitting close
is the passion of the hour,
when silence said
is our lover's sonnet,
in bed, holding each
nothing more is wanted.