The room is stifling with
deflowered souls.
The sad cafe tends to its ghosts
but we are more than grateful to forget.
There are no secrets among these
desolate lovers disfigured by life.
We inhale circlets of smoke
that linger in the air and taste lips
dripping desire.
The night arches its back
to drunken angels so we dance
beneath stars that meet us halfway.
“Knowing” by Andrew Atroshenko
When I am near you I become a glimmering
chimera of mirrors tempered of shell and sand
a cascading niagara plunging into deep pools of desire
where I am so afraid to fall.
Powerless to hold back I immerse in the irides of your eyes
as speechless as tongueless birds.
The current of tides tangles you in the succulent
mirage of my eyelashes. You and I are more than
the wispy smoke of clouds or an epoch of bones
but the breathing air of lovers rushing through veins
as gentle or fierce as the press of your thigh on mine.
There are times when I can see myself
through your eyes.
My pale face so in love
aching for the caress of a flaxen
haired boy racing through rolling fields.
Suddenly serious your adventurous eyes
sent yearning shivers through me.
I longed for your touch anytime and
kissed you opened mouth without
permission.
I adored your mock anger when you
chased me and the awkward way
you looked down at your hands.
Soon Autumn threw its shadow on
sprouting wheat, smooth and wet.
Now, I listen to the soft whisper
of your breathing through a half
closed door and know there are
different kinds of love
wild, ruthless, and unafraid.
Remember the cabin among the trees hidden like rabbits resting in nests of autumn leaves? Beside the window that looks out on the river there is a writer’s desk with printer’s ink and fresh flowers kissed by the sun in the sill.
Do you recall the sweet days we shared among redwoods that spoke to us? The memory evokes such nostalgia for that ache, that fierce crushing devotion. I left a heart shaped basket of seeds in the arch of a tree for the birds to scatter, etched our names on its bark. I will always remember you and the cabin by the river, the sultry nights I would dance for you, sheer layers floating to the herringbone floor.
Nights while you sleep
my lips are so close I can
draw your breath in like an
infant at its mother’s breast.
I run my fingers down the curve
of your spine lean in to breathe
your smokey scent.
I have entered that golden part of you
immersed the sea that claimed me in
oceans of fiery sunsets.
When our hearts grow mute we will know
we have drifted too near the sun
art by Karol Bak
I shower and dress, apply makeup as though I am going to work. I barely recognize my own reflection in the mirror but I am wearing my favorite dress and my hair is the color of rusty nails. I ignore your perplexed expression and questions.
Downtown I meld into the chaotic masses, eyes that are infused with the pain of survival. As the morning wears on relentless chatter becomes an undercurrent of whispers that fade with the crowd. Sweat and strong coffee stings my nostrils, clings to skin. Alien faces are etched behind my eyes.
The familiar girl is propped against the graffiti covered wall that turns golden in the sunset. Her head rests against skeletal arms that wrap around her knees. Jarred by a boot she glances upward from her induced euphoria, fumbles in the pocket of torn jeans fishing out a handful of dollars. Glancing around the man slips it beneath his belt and places a small bag into her weedy fingers that loosen, dropping it between her feet. I wonder how she will sleep in the night cold.
Repelled by the scent of urine, even the pigeons keep their distance and the stray dog lifts his feet. I feel those good intentions rising but they remain contained in my hermit mind. Does it count that I thought of her as she isolates to death?
Making my way back I pass that abandoned garden, pick a flower to playfully slip behind your ear. I rely on distractions these days.
You kiss the back of my neck and once again describe your beloved island and how the sun’s glare bounces off the seas surface and life glides beneath the sparkling blue that spreads over the horizon.
From my deserted garden we share an apple that reminds me of an autumn orchard and a love struck boy whose memory compels me to rub my body against you in search of that trigger, that wild place in my mind that is precious only if it is gone.
I feel you in the pouring rain
violent or soft as a summer storm.
A distant star you appear only to fade
into the night from which you came.
Decaying gardenias fill my room with mortality
a treacly specter of memories.
Wounded hearts are slow to heal
I have become indifferent to pain.
We are a wasteland, all poetic breath died with us.
I long for the scent of earth infused with deep roots
the soothing sounds of chimes swaying from the
limb of a live oak, soothing sounds for the twilight hours.
art by Karol Bak
Drawn by possibility
I am at war with resistance,
A desperate allure of words
becoming flesh.
The tender momentum of hands
ignites a perfect fire on taut boughs of
willowy limbs powerless to undo a black
spell night.
Come dawn I am a periwinkle
at your pillow, pale petals of desire
bending to what is golden.
innocensedawn at pinterest
