“[R]ead slowly, deeply, looking cautiously before and aft, with reservations, with doors left open, with delicate eyes and fingers…“
Hot-soled and solo,
I’m going on the run
w/ no bookbag & no makeup
cos I’m running just for fun
to the sweetmeat-vending sweethearts,
to the heart of Wadi Rum,
to the undiscovered pit,
to where my troubles were begun.
photo credit: @crookedcosmos
Fractions of you fell away,
scenes of the play
I’d made of you
before I knew
you were all fiction
and more my own than yours.
Don’t give me hope just to break it again;
I’ll leave twice as many shards.
You told me once about your uncle.
A bad man. He was. You said.
You told me that,
in your country’s gilded framing,
we get back
what we wreak.
Taking fire for ransom
– the passionate fist of my heart,
an example –
will not be excluded from your equation.
Though it takes a little longer
than your trespass
to reach the full extension
of its force,
though it takes its time
unlike the shape your face would make
with each level I dipped further
in your gamed world (love),
though it’s without conscience, too:
the whole conclusion
of that forfeit
will continue to blow
“You left stains on my sheets and stains on my soul.”
– while some other peaceless nest you sow
and other wings you clip for show/
to hang upon your mantelpiece
for only you to know (her) –
but with creeping soreness
that batters the core.
A chronic disorder.
Perhaps, when you think you are safe or recovered
(a mistake I know so well),
it will get you like the sharpest hit of trauma.
I don’t need your eye for mine when I can take two.
Love is the purest tragedy;
it tells of heroes,
worn and bruised.
Of 7 billion lovers,
I chose my love for only you,
but you took it and you caged it and you made my heart your zoo.
I was walking in the snow
when I should’ve said a prayer for us.
If only I had known.
Too busy, I was,
with padded feet that felt like wings
and confidence in love.
Life works as twists and turns,
and you’ll always yearn for the other ride.
Don’t buckle in too tightly, then,
if you cannot yet decide
what is best
My love’s got amber
once you’ve seen his anger
there is not a red storm
that could seduce you.