Earthborne… (revisited)

She sleeps
Thousands of miles below
My feet
When I am still
I feel her heartbeat
Rising up through the ancient ground
She holds my feet to terra firma
She watches me with eyes the color of home
Her voice echoes in the vast granite halls of my heart
She whispers, “Shhh..You are not an angel, Love….nor are you damned…you can not fly”
Her mind is a relic, powerful and beautiful
Engraved in a primordial language
I spoke it once
But I was traveling in the great yawning dark between the stars
And She was a pinpoint of light, lifetimes in my past

She….
the straps between the plates of my armor

She offers me protection here, between the soaring walls of the mountains
Wrinkles in Her blanket
Gravity…..Sanity……Solace and a marrow-deep longing for an audience with Her
To throw myself on Her mercy
Give up my accomplices
I want my heart in Her strong hands
To feel her holding it against Her
I am madly in love with Her
I don’t want to be free of Her
But if I take a knee
Reaffirm my oath to Her
Perhaps She will let me remember free fall
…… if only in my dreams

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Fireborne… (revisited)

I watch with jealous eyes
Each evening the sun goes to sleep with Her
My western sky is bathed in the colors of Her heart
I’ll stand here, teary eyed and heart pounding
Until the blanket of night
pushes cool and soothing against my face
My blood rises against my skin
The iron responding to Her magnetic call
Remembering when she was curled
around the heart of a star
Pyrokenetic Thermonuclear Detonation
Each time She rises from Her ashes
She walks back into the world like a god
Trailing phoenix down and cinder
I feel Her beauty
I know it exists
I feel it tearing its way through my DNA
I see Her fingerprints on the molecules in my blood
An inferno raging through my mind
I feel the creaking, groaning, rot-ridden scaffolding around my soul
Giving way to Her
But my hands don’t feel the warmth of Her blaze
I would commit my fingers to a life of blistering scars
To feel one moment, the flames under Her skin
and the warmth of Her breath on my face
If She should speak my name

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Waterborne… (revisited)

“Be careful what you wish for.” She said
I watched, helplessly from vantage point on the shore
Her voice was barely a whisper but, the salt air sent it to my ears, clearer than a bell
arms folded across Her chest, Her beautiful face was turned away from me.
I ached to see Her, as only the ocean could see Her,  in this very moment.
The setting sun turned Her hair to fire
I imagined the tears in Her dark eyes
How their taste would remind me of Her home
My mortal feet shuffled in my uncomfortable position
I heard my heart breaking for Her
As it had done, every day, since I met Her
This universe was capable of such horrible cruelty
to such beautiful creatures
My world had known such joy at the first instance I sat upon
this very shore and watched and waited for Her to surface
standing here now
I couldn’t slow the pounding of my heart
I wanted to reach for Her
But She was so far away out on that Rock
And I can’t swim
Not the way She can
I looked over my shoulder
To the encroaching dark of my homeland
Tried to clear the water from my own eyes
Rubbing furiously with my sleeve
like I did when I was a kid
The dark cloth soaking up the salt and the pain
Finally daring to look back
Wanting one last glimpse of Her
A final image to take back with me
and put in a shoebox, under my bed
As proof that She was here
But the surf had carried Her home
And the pieces fell apart
on the sand

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Airborne…(revisited)

In this field I toil
My hands and feet
Cracked and broken
I feel the ground shake
Lay aside my tools
and I see Her
as her legion advances
Her banners wave golden
In the same sun that scorches
My neck
My hand moves to the small of my back
Old wounds won last in Her service
I don’t speak of the wounds in my Chest
Won last when I drew Her favor
When She came to my tent
When Her auburn hair hung, not in that tight braid at Her back….
But fell loose and tangled about Her
Strong shoulders
When I felt Her thighs against mine
Not boiling hot
But as cool linen that has lain in the embrace of an autumn breeze
And with a tender grace that belied
Her powerful frame
She held My head against Her breast
As our bodies moved in unison.
She smelled of the herbs and oils of the temple
Where they anointed Her the day She fell from the stars
I forgot the pain of these wounds
as She freed me from what ties me to this place
Even now as the horns call to rally to Her banner….
I desperately fight to keep my feet where they are
I can not fight Her war any more…
But, by the Gods, I want to…

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Tattooed…

I want this…

want to spend hours
reading the pretty pictures
on your skin
The stories they tell
of the landscape of your heart
and the arcane protection
they provide your soul
teach me the language they speak
the syntax they manipulate
to strike flame from open air
and rain down raw beauty upon my eyes
my tongue hungers to read you
like a blind man
your goosebumps will be my braille tome
though I shall work for minutes or hours or years
to produce this involuntary response
to feel a shiver run across your aphrodisian arches
close my eyes and feel the difference
as I wander the fields of your body
explore the smooth and sweet
interrupted by the warm, wet and salty
your sounds will be my sign posts
and will satiate my ravenous soul
on the poisoned honey within your hollow bones
though I shall return
time and again
to seek your heart
the only antidote

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Castaway…

days that I’ve sat upon this shore
with grains of sand that
pronounce my fingers a sieve
I have watched as she wore the sea
like a new dress
the waves embrace her
every curve and line
as only my arms can wish and envy
her heart
beats a topaz rhythm
against cerulean skies
and when the evening sun
turns the trees behind me
into pillars of flame
I’ll close my eyes
and listen for her voice
in the surf
and if she should speak
my name
I’ll be Hannibal
astride the shattered walls
of Rome

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Infirmary…

here she finds me
here in this abandoned wing
of my soul
sanitarium tuberculosis ward
red black stains upon the floor
whisping sheets of gauze flutter
in an unfeelable breeze
I have retrieved it again
and clutch it against my chest
as if I could put it back
a tight ball
rolled and crushed
like aluminum foil
soaked in crimson
my hands run sticky with the juice of life
as my madman tongue
waggles to my reflection
against the dirty window

She finds me
like she always does
and I can feel the gravity of her
behind me
I can feel the weight of her
pressing down on these grey oaken floorboards
the foil ball in my hands
quivers with pain
as I turn to look at her
Achingly beautiful
not the sunshine and sky hues of mythic angels
no
she is ever dark haired
and sullen eyed
a common sparrow amid the thorny bushes of my life
yet at her approach my feet find purchase
and it is here that I make my shameful confession…
…sometimes I want to run from her

She holds out her hand
I place the ball into the stone altar of her palm
and brace myself for the pain
as she sets to work
gently pulling and straightening
there is pain
but I focus on her face
and I hear a voice inside me say

Oh kind maid
sweet Goddess of my soul
I deserve you not
for how oft have I returned to you
this very same ball
and how many times
have you smoothed and straightened
and though my spine twitches
with each and every ministration
the terror I fear never comes to pass
never have your fingers ripped or torn
no matter the ichor
which attempts to trap your beautiful fingers
within its grappling lock
You should do away with me
You should leave this place
and never let these soiled boards
touch your precious feet again
This place is not for you
You are the better part of us
Daughter of the Ebon Flame
You could carry so much more than that tangled mass
beyond the walls of this ruin

Yet I know she will not leave
though I have awakened countless days of my life
terror stricken that the bond between us is broken
that I will one day call for her
and she will not come to find me
it brings tears to my eyes to think of her gone
and how much more empty this place would be
without the soothing calm of her grace
without the relieving balm of her face
to not see her shadow from under my door
to know what it means to be truly poor
abandoned to the dark and find solace, none
in the whispered promise of the rising sun

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Humidity….

We were a furtive flourish…
Sundress printed swirls, blue jean short borders
Cotton Tee collects flecks of grass
Propped up on leaf-dimpled elbows, fingers tangled
Her seraphic face above me
Her eyes teach the sky what it means to be blue
The summer air shimmers between us
Warm and damp
Wisps of her golden tresses stick to my cheek
A sweet honeysuckle scent
A gentle smile that melts my heart like ice cream
I sigh, a silent prayer, a plea for her to lower her velvet lips
So that I may taste her again
She is a wonderful, billowing ball of fragmented chaos
I am powerless to apply a formula which can contain her essence
She is unknowable perfection
Together here, the soft earth shields us from the prying eyes of the world
Gossamer words and sighs of delight drift only to the verdant canopy of our refuge
Jasmine and magnolia our only witnesses
As the weight of her, presses down on me
I am seared with her brand
Eternally marked
as Hers

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Preen….

“Up?”
Even though she knows I can not see her
she asks anyway
casting her voice
over the smooth arc of her shoulder
where the satin of her bra strap bites gently into her skin

On the bed
I lay on my back
the comic book extended above my face
The truth is
I do not need to see her

I know she sits
facing that mirror
with her chocolate waves tangled in her fingers
and piled on her head
those few ringlets rebelliously escaping the masses
to dangle near the sides of her checks

She gives a soft laugh
no doubt feeling the twitch in our heart
as I think about the image I just described
“or down?” She teases
releasing both handfuls of her mane
to tumble to her shoulders
and catch my nose in the wake of gardenias and cinnamon

I sigh
content to play her game
but playing my part
of feigning the delayed lover
eternally waiting on her timing in the hour of preparation
“Down please.” I breathe, “Our heart can’t take it being up this evening, I think”

She
ever the thespian
gives a convincing pout
begins the mesmerizing ritual of brushing
her deft hands stroke out a rhythm in the brown of her hair
and my fingers turn a page I am never intending to read
because my eyes steal glimpses of her preening

As the brush
returns to the vanity
she turns her cheek
pursing her lips in the beauty of a mock kiss
“So, the reddish-brown you say?”
She says to my distracted mind

“Mmhmm” I mumble
obviously engrossed in my reading

She picks up the lipstick
and extends her neck towards the mirror
as she traces the shape
of her lips
I swear, I am reminded of a sculptor
and the rich red-brown clay of my southern homeland

She’s caught me watching again
because I see the corner of her mouth turn up
as the lipstick drifts away
and is twisted back into dormancy
she turns her face
this way and that
in order to look at her handy work, so it would seem
but to increase my pulse, by design

“dark on the eyes?”
She prompts
I do not answer, of course
I am busy with my story
on the same page now, for over the last 5 minutes
She sighs gently as she picks up the applicator
closing first one brown orb, then the other
applying a shadow of night to the lids
“…we spent much too long looking
at those magazines at the top of Dad’s closet
when we were younger”

I will bite my tongue
as she sees to her lashes
and smile in my heart
as her lips always slightly part
in concentration
and as she finishes, she will turn with a flourish
waiting for me to finish pretending I am much too busy to look
and fighting with my eyes to keep up the charade a moment longer

I know her patience well
she has been dealing with me for a long time
and she knows which buttons she can push
and which ones she can mash
and which ones belong to her, alone..

“You’re probably writing this down.
This little story about me?
fingers, elsewhere, typing away at some screen?
Answer me, Poet…you forget we are one.
and I know your story’s ending
before it is done.
I know each pitter-patter
of our strong poetic heart
and you’ve nothing within you
that would keep me in the dark
Now stop your coy playing and give it a rest
for I’ve need of your artistry
go and pick me a dress.”

 

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Banshee…

Don’t touch the girls
it’s the rule at the Golden T Saloon
but that rule
is as flimsy as the paper that holds the letters to the wall
Everyone knows
for the right amount of coin
that sign doesn’t exist
pay the standard fee
after the show
and the owner will let you touch
whatever you want
celestial girls
they’re extra
double the fee
for the exotic
so after the $20 was handed over
he took her
to the middle of nowhere
to have some fun
for a while
it was dead quiet out here
now the crickets are singing between the steps
of her high leather boots as they crunch in the dry prairie grass
the light of a full august moon plays on her face
the choker around her neck
against the black of the night
makes her head seem to float above her body
cut off from the pain
it shows
the beautiful curve of her lips and the trickle of crimson at the edge
where he’d gotten a lick on her
before she shot like a lightning bolt away from him
he had fumbled with the strings of her corset
a little too long
she snatched at his hand
and it flew fast and hard into her cheek
but as his drunken swing continued to arc
she launched away
the first thing he did when he got her out here
was take off his gun belt
that would prove to be his last mistake
the cool wind blew softly as
the fire of moonlight danced
on her butterscotch colored shoulders
highlighting with white outlines
the waterfall of ebony hair that hung down
her back and covered those corset strings
that had saved her
her arms hung at her sides
brushing back and forth
in the ruffles of her skirt
the tops of her thighs striped with garters
peaked out in the moonlight as she walked
and she was careful
not to let them touch
the hot iron horses
that hung from each hand
still smoking from their single nostrils
12 teeth those fillies had to bite
she put 7 in him
from his beak to his balls
the other 5 went into the ground
and even though there hadn’t been rain for weeks
the thunder she made that night
watered the dry Wyoming territory dirt
with his crimson deluge
as she made her way
across the wide open night
with the orange glow of the campfire behind her
sending a purple ribbon up into the night sky
any evil man
would cower where he stood
to see this she-demon approach
and any man
of good heart and hand
would thank the heavens
for such an achingly beautiful
angel of death
that may come to take his life

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