Springtime bends the
hibiscus and sweetens the
night where there is no weight
in air or flowers or the fire of
Chameleon lovers.
Negril
In the hushed silence between waves
sighs fill the night as stars come alive
and the breeze is a soft poem.
Nude in the moon light but for drifting
shadows the swirl in your glass keeps
perfect time with far off thunder.
I need to look away from your gun powder eyes
that lethal shot
before the fluttering of a thousand butterflies
betray me.
I breathe in the circlets of your cigarette and
the honey sweet scent of willing hostages.
As fragile as fireflies we escape to the madness of
our minds where all we have to do is live.
Liliana Gigovic
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woman waiting
Lips wet with mist, the breeze of a kiss,
water grass sweeping through diaphanous dreams.
The strains of a sonata stream,
rivers of veins filled with bloods wildness
a song blue playing with fire.
Tongues of lovers burn with allegory
celestial walls of silence.
Hear the firewood snap and hiss
the burning heat of need.
Has her awakening come to late?
Art by Liu
Unbeknownst to me this poem was picked up in October and published at Bon Bon Lifestyle Webazine. Thank you Bon Bon Lifestyle, and thank you Jonathan for letting me know.
woman waiting — House of Heart
Summer with Burroughs
Remember the summer
we were obsessed with Burroughs?
Anything familiar like far off thunder
close enough to subdue mad-paced hours.
Something inciting, a strike of lightning
the scent of combustion ready to ignite
everything electric that made us come alive.
Our hearts caught between whale song and sigh
spontaneous thunder and intermittent quiet
sporadic as a summer storm.
Leonid Afremov “Rains Rustle”
she doesn’t speak french
On sleepless nights
I stroll the left bank in black sequined heels,
My eyelids heavy with sparkling glitter.
Among the art I find you, your aura
travels through my veins ,
settles in the pool of my heart.
soft lights flicker their last warning in our dark cafe where like willows we sway to lost songs.
Suddenly you are gone, my Modigliani reclining never hearing my sigh
Je t’aime, the only French I know.
Mark Spain Art
unruly lover
For you I will be
the sun who shines
without expectation,
a breeze that shapes soft
passages when you travel
uncertainty.
Let me be your madness
that sets desire in motion,
the moon pulling tides
drawing you closer.
When my words fail
my body will speak for me.
Of air and flight, strung of stars,
let me be the light you
return to.
