If Making Makes us Thine

 

 

Dear soul, how long it’s been?

The poems in your mouth

That went unsaid?

 

My heart’s heart has no longer

The flowers of will, only

A silent longing that’s no longer

 

The beady desire of blood

Bless you and what’s near to you

Though, who said the journey ever stopped

 

We just became somebody else

As the months rolled into blinding anonymity

We moved closer to the light

 

To love you much and yet

To love more in the freedom of being

Dear soul, it doesn’t matter how many years

 

Tomorrow is a world without end

For others to feel the magic

While words remain and joys will echo on

 

Like children asking questions about the universe

We’re all I love you firsts, and afterwards

Where our love can be remembered

 

In the happy solace of helpmet age

Where age is just a number

And poems only mirrored garments

Our hearts once wore in sunlight

Different than today’s

Not With Your Foreign Wings to Shelter Me

Beneath sentiments better left, unsaid
Untouched like some dead weight
Beneath the rubble-fields of battered words
That amount to little more, mere memories

They are not tangible, precious, or alive
But constrict me from the inside
Let them try to pronounce a winter of hurt
For a floundering of spring, yet to be

With fevered heart, let them melt away in summer
Clang shut eternal gates of love, forever?
Yet, for all that, trust shall come again, as ever?
With nostrils of bleeding gold, for rich rewards?

You will not appear again, with that dusty mantle
Of golden olive skin and pouty eyes
I am sick of dissipating you in mere fantasy
As blind as I ever am, a prelude and a requiem, or a preface
Where my luckless touches, touched a foreign woman’s shore.