I’m Telling this to the Two of You


31

In my love-soaked bed
I thought I drank love and died from it
Though I have been alone
For how many months now?
How many years have I suffered
*
.
)
My relationship with myself
I caught and wrestled in this bed
The dreams that I once sought
I scatter now to the winds
Accepting, for instance, how much
.
More clever my corpse might be
The legacy of dead songs, you see
Angels will not come to kiss my head
In my love-soaked bed, I live and died
A fantasy, created by stages of delusion
*
.
)
I invented illusions that you existed
So that I might simulate love
That my fragmented heart, might survive
And linger a while in my mind
To obey, some entertainment of beauty
For a lonely life, of dead songs.

So Long Foreshadowed Days Have Come Around


12

We grew a hundred years in age
In a few months of love’s highs and lows
We died in our gentleness
And came alive in the silver cracks
Of our passionate connection

Thunderous tidings from your lips
Where I went sobbing home, imploring God
To make you grow fond of me, to utmost chilling
I fell by my Muse’s gaiety and zest
With too much useless art for your pragmatic tastes

I live to mourn and love in verse
Since you came and left, I having nothing now
But a more wicket heart that bears regret
In frozen winds and the itch of spring
Summer’s pageantry will hopefully hasten to admit

That I’m still alive , though I have been dead
I aged in months of crying sleep and tragic songs
Half up the slope of too much feeling
Where lovers do not come, and I must sit alone
As if in the dusty lashes of a lingering solitude.