In A Dark Time

The autumn leaves fall.
Late October London is covered in hues of orange and purple.
In my solitude by the river I daydream that I am
an adolescent reptile escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung,
Laid back in the sun.

My nostrils absorb the scent of cologne
Perhaps later, for now I am content to observe.
To my advantage I know all about these men
While they know so little of me.

Thinking of you
Dying just a little, dead and dying all hope of
A dream never realized
I imagine my earthly body padded sat beside yours on a grassy knoll
to breathe in the scent of lilac and the mossy green River Delta.

later, in the dark I am nude but for a shadow across my torso.
You are so near and to resist this burning desire
I distract my mind with Roethke’s “In A Dark Time”.


In your arms I sway like a young birch in a summer tempest.
I am reminded of when we gave away what we had already lost.
We hold each other now, knowing love has died and we with it.

art by Fabian Perez

the Sad Cafe (V)

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.

Andrew Atroshenko Knowing painting - Knowing print for sale

“Knowing” by Andrew Atroshenko

Tender Places

The small lake shimmers with light

reeds rustle beneath

the feet of a fawn

leaning forward her pink tongue

curls backward

spattering the sweetness of life

into her nose and eyes

spotted ears pull sideways

heeding the sigh of the forest

the breath of a breeze

the kiss of sunlight transforms

autumn gold to green

beyond the edge of the wood

fall collides with spring

in  tender places of the wild

Do No Harm

image © Joan Eger

The Woman in the Mirror

is A child that looks out

from eyes that weep diamonds

or liquid fire spills from the curve of her lip

burns trails down her cheeks

those voices inside roll in on waves

of ocean-like silence from the pit of her belly

(is that possible?)

cold clouds rain down from some god-forsaken

depth that like the tender touch of heartbreak

pleads come and rest.

Photographer unknown, public domain

Persuasion

Drawn by the pull of possibility

I am at war with resistance

tempted by persuasion and the

dynamic momentum of hands

on taut shoulders

the gravitational press on tangled

knots and willowy limbs that succumb to

a black spell night

your kiss is kindle igniting

the perfect fire

Come dawn I am a periwinkle

at your pillow

tender petals bending to what

is golden.

61 Figurative Paintings By Kazakhstani Artist Andrei Belichenko

art by Andre Belinchenko

Interlude

In this dream I turn to you

light my cigarette from the glowing

tip of yours.

I propose we fly away.

Your dark eyes whip my mind

into arousal and your elegant hand

on my thigh turns me soft inside.

Your breathing is a sigh against

my ear that whispers my hair

and crimson lips so near devours

your resistance.

Against waves of longing and desire

dreams are always what it could

be like.

Suddenly hares chase foxes

and Roebucks hunt hunters and

to shield me from the terror you

hold me within bleak arms.

We are light breathing

sweet molecules into the night

It would be easy now to fly.

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Breathing air

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.

Indulging Conjecture

Pink sand pulls away
from the glistening shore
melting fondant in the
sticky heat
Minute  ecosystems inhabit
tiny  grottoes in  tide pools
of wet sand
Some days I stroll the coast alone
escaping into secret realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
an aching crush I hold to my breast
a passage between a heart and the
mountains where I left you
Allow me to come undone beneath
tender hands on eggshell
the gentle quake of a sigh upon your
unshaven cheek
Let me   drown in the green river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war hard silence
or the burden of forgiveness

Come Autumn

On a mossy hill behind a mock castle

we will read Aristophanes to harems

of nymphs strumming their lyre.

Words transform to birds flitting

hearts of lovers while  I contemplate

the perfect angle of your face

breathe in the amber resin of pine trees

that permeate our senses

There in the unruffled pools of your eyes

I will die just a little

artist unknown

milieu

You want her to be real
A half smile curve of lips
a glide of a hand through hair

The click of heels on a marble floor
You want to be her clothes
Falling  softly about her feet 
That have formed the shape of her feet and when she arches her back
she soars as high as imagined
wings can fly.

Luigi Quarti

art by Luigi Quarti “fallen angel”