"pharate" poems
Still a child; fragile, undefined -
trembling, timid and shy -
a body curling inwards
- petals and moonlight -
we're magnetised:
this shared desperation and
fumbling adolescent shame.
A throbbing, suffocated silence -
lost hands and strangled hysteria.
Achingly tiny,
shattered-glass bones flutter,
colliding and entangling;
causing the skin to lift
and contort. To ebb -
a fluid - a pulse.
His shoulder-blades
(the crushingly delicate shiver
of butterfly wings)
cast splintered, mosaic shadows
(sharp and electric
to trace) along
the gasping, groaning spine...
Pharate, we're demolishing ourselves
in a gorgeous, stumbling,
careless collapse -
colliding in cold frenzy, desperate
to hide - burrow - entomb --
to bury ourselves - his mesmerising flesh.
Rasping out - teeth and lip
and tongue - ravenous,
animalistic despair.
With timid breath - to rip, devour, engulf --
to hiss and **** delicious venom.
An ache - a yearning - for absorption,
for skin, for blood -
to be consumed and to consume -
to feel every pain of it -
to be wrecked - to become
the same debris.
I spill out into his shadows,
his indents, his cuts and curves -
their fervent whimpers, electrified palpitations -
and he to mine:
It's as though we're eclosing,
these golden deodorant nymphas - we're quaking through;
tearing apart every sad smother of silk - and now
desolate; forever nothing
but drifting, lambent dust.
Skin like porcelain -
cold and wrong to touch -
yet stomachs hot,
hurtling hot.
Flesh winces - ripples - under
premature pain.
("I'm sorry. I")
He crumbles, cuts
my thighs
and leaves us both with
scars that we, as scars, forever treasure;
and with veins seeping Hemolymph;
to heal, to beat, to grow.
Sep 19, 2013
Sep 19, 2013 at 3:13 PM UTC
The beholden larva beckons
for none to behold
the simplicity of its movements.
The predator of hole-ridden leaf fields
begs for notice
to be postponed.
There is safety that will follow
the eyes that continue
to follow past it.
In another cycle it will leave
behind the simplicity
that it now knows.
The beholden chrysalis beckons
for none to behold
its lack of movement.
The loiterer of leaf-ridden branch
begs for notice
to be postponed.
Lacking the safety of hymenopterans
its predecessors continue
to follow past it.
In another cycle it will leave
behind the simplicity
the pharate now requires.
Behold the transformed beckon
for none to behold
its clumsy movements.
The maunderer of pushing winds
received no notice
of what it postponed.
There was safety before
the forceful gale
followed past it.
In this cycle it has left
behind the simplicity
it now longs for.
It struggles to hold fast
to the branches
it once traversed so easily.
A gift to observers
is the burden's cause
carried in silence.
Aug 29, 2013
Aug 29, 2013 at 11:38 AM UTC