Walking Amongst the Pre-Raphaelites

Glossy darkness

The shadows,

            |

            |

            sleeping.

The house, the night, those

            Who move with the sun –

quiescent.

An imagined red buzz

3am

cyclic, rhythmic, metrical

Heartbeats and doubts

reCUR.

A vibration that does not cease

as I shift on the bed

 

Forgiveness is a present

Forgiveness is not present

A dowry of pearls and petals,

golden birds

laden

at the feet

Of

thin men

 

No.  I cannot uncurl and yield the crop

Cannot inhale

responsibility with sadness.

 

Clenching

holding

Tightly

Blackbirds…nightbirds…ringing my feet

Underscore

with Brusque claws

The soft whir of wings

Our forward motion                         stalled

taste of salt and iron.

 

The vibration that does not cease

increased

In the timbre of snores

mumbled

From an untroubled slumber

Alongside.

 

She smolders slowly

proverbial

red heart of flame

Fanned by

            his snoring

Beginning ascent…

 

A catch.

 

The breath

p a u s i n g

in an abruptly silent throat.

 

Fear has no texture

But has sudden sharp ends

Piercing when least expected.

 

Rapidly uncurling nightflower

Why do you imagine rage?

This is no thin man

And Haddam is far away.

Reality smothers imagined birds

like brides without veils,

their gold

tarnished

Valuable always.

 

Love has a texture.

It is the feel of my front, reshaping itself to your back

turned

The sensation of a snore

Pulling your body

back to mine.