A Rose Descent

How now does this rose not wither,
whilst I cradle its petals in my hand;
but how it does tremble with wan,
as if its beauty would swoon of me.

How wild as the wind it does play,
its petals as wisps of silken sheets;
o’er the palm of my hand, it bleeds,
as in its stay, it knows but to caress.

How free to the sky its scent is away,
the odorous calling of its heart is sung;
as with my sighing breath o’er its flesh,
would it give me this kiss to rely upon.

How now it pales to the sun in my hand,
‘ere the pallor of its gaze dies too soon;
see it now weep for its coming demise,
and in final tremor, slips from my grasp.

How then upon the earth it does plunder,
to fall in pieces, as shed Autumn leaves;
dropping to my knees now, I covet its fall,
then softly die, in harmony with the rose.

 

This Stoning Heart

Speak now soft to me,
to this stoning heart,
let me awaken then
to some flash of sun,
e’en if only martyred
with false reverence;
for it casts, callous,
swift upon my breast.

Let shed this burden,
this weighted breeze,
that it may then lend
some weight to breath,
the air I cannot feel,
yet burns in my lungs;
‘ere no discernment,
‘twixt me, or this air.

I admit life, yet uncast,
living but to fill space,
such paltry sum, am I,
of some grand design,
as if I were a portion
of some broad horizon;
the earth I thus attend,
else my heart dies lone.

Do not mourn for me,
one can but surrender,
for all stoning hearts,
‘ere no delay of tides
shall e’er come ‘tween
you and I, each of us;
let play now this ode,
song of stoning heart.

 

The Martyred Kiss

A splintered trace of some empty sorrow
still clings to the pale breath of her kiss,
and she gives away her right to breathe
for the sake of her lips’ relinquished sigh;
I taste the sudden madness of her tears,
and the sweetness of her impassioned lips,
which chafe upon me with an untamed rush,
as her submission tenders into my mouth;
she’s barely aware of her reclusive hedony,
as her lips drag wanton hopes across mine;
not yet acknowledging her uneasy patience,
without feign, she releases labored breath,
and becomes martyr to her own seduction.

 

How Softly Your Words But Scream

Lay soft your flesh upon this bed,
let souls go not for sake of night;
stay your form, this softness wed,
yet waking unto morning’s bright.

Pour my spirit ‘ere upon your wake,
this rippled surface of your flesh;
your words, sweetly, do but slake,
kiss this breath, my scalded caress.

Speak not for tomorrow failing,
but this twilight song you play;
weak am I, but for your wailing,
what softness have you to sway.

How softly your words but scream,
of somber souls in need of stone;
now ply my soul to fleshless dream,
love not borrowed, but e’er to own.

 

To The Night, But For Her Whispered Name

Of all the bowery droves she hails,
this wicked night stews bitter sorrow,
amid the rain and haze of her tide,
‘ere she yields, but stays not wanton;

but let her be forgotten, if by disdain,
and she will wake to strike the earth,
if not to reach out to the sky in rain,
then to stretch upon her sullen warm;

that she did cry, but for the last time,
she has come this far to cry no more,
and her soul but wanders freely, still,
away, she flies in her mind, unfurled;

she whispers her name unto the dying,
that they may see her soul take wing,
that this world may be yet softer, still,
and ‘ere I cry, sitting alone in the dark;

‘ere I hold in memory all that once was,
with my eyes to the sky, yet in waiting,
‘ere I stay, as tho’ night held me down,
and ‘ere, she whispers her name to me.

 

Sing Hey! Sweet Mandolin

Hey!, sing Hey! sweet mandolin,
sing Hey! in its most resounding;
tho’ with fingered strings of steel;
sing Hey! ‘cross the isle of night.

Now, sting thy hand o’er the tune,
and play, but of these tears of joy,
sing Hey! to thy sorrow betrayed;
now, do scald thy heart e’er bright.

 

Wed Me Now To This Breath

Wed me now to this breath;
let me taste this vast sunrise,
before the spires of the city
weigh upon this virgin air.

Mark my eyes unto the sky;
that I may yet see beyond
this limited horizon of mine,
obscurred by its societal din.

Let fall from my lips a word;
speak to stars not yet sleeping,
some query of space beyond,
‘ere I join this cosmic fray.

 

My Mouth Did Speak Her Soft

My mouth did speak her soft,
blushed submission, her reply,
with my breath upon her oft,
and her eyes warm with sigh.

Offered she, in wanton ways,
her grandeur upon my flesh,
so drawn, she kissed my gaze,
lending wan to her breasts.

Slave to this abandon tide,
she but rose, breathless cry,
thus, my lips and hers abide,
to the dawn, our silent sigh.