A farewell to a love that never was

Be still
For a time I claimed it a fiction  and hid it in the dark.
 I was safe.
But skeletons are wanton things and I hear they love to dance.
So on that night out they waltzed forgetting they had no flesh to clothe them.
Those exquisite delicate nude bones of my desire must have seemed like horrors to you.
The bare bones of a creation that simply should not be
So flee
Leave me and the monster be.
I can never forget the feel of murder on my hands.
As I strangled the monster of my own creation.
A frankenstein of hope and love sparked by the electricity of my desire.
 Not my first crime
I don't even flinch this time
I leave the body on the floor
Now as I lock the door
I pray I don't think of it anymore

Luce

She thought he had a pocketful of stars. She thought he had the iridescent blue silver glimmer glow of a summer night stored there. That's why she came, to this place with only moonlight where she wouldn't normally stay.        
                                                           
She thought he had a pocketful of stars. The opalescent wishing light of a thousand summer nights ready to spill enough for her great heart. That's why she took his hand and held it with her own when she had vowed to never touch a soul again.  
                                             
She thought he had a pocketful of stars. She thought he carried a million shimmering hopes bound in light, enough for her big dreams. That's why she kissed his mouth and let his voice draw her song when she  swore she would never sing again.

She thought he had a pocketful of stars. She thought he had enough glow to paint over her many wounds and heal her so she could fight again. That's why she let him run his fingers through her hair, she thought he would leave particles of light and not the pain he planted there.

She thought he had a pocketful of stars.
That was why she left her blade behind.
She thought he had a pocketful of stars to guide them home again but all he had was darkness and now she had to fight, bare handed wild woman just looking for some light.

Morning Light

They say all the great enchantments end at mid night, the pumpkin is no longer a carriage and the mice are but vermin again. The princess that was is back at work and happily ever after is far far away. Morning light raises the world and murders me, I am the automation, no longer a real woman but this single purpose built mechanism, it looks flesh and feels flesh but underneath inside its eyes, everything is dead. It mouths the words and smiles the smiles, it can look its great desire in the face and feel naught.

Under the cool silver light of the moon, I dance wanton flesh and blood. I feel so much my skin strains too hold me in. I ache for that which I desire, I hunger and I thirst but most of all I feel. I feel the strains of song inside my arms, I feel great big heart beats and my senses jump like lightening strikes when I imagine your face. My sensory memory is knife point sharp and every curve of your body runs me through. I see all your angles and waltz with the long slivers of your memories. I cut myself open on the clean edges of my want. The crazy strums of slick need crawl inside my mind like acid trips, I loose my self imagining the myriad manner I would love you. Whole hours are lost contemplating your fine made beauties, just the sounds of your speech and the feel of you smiling against my skin. This wild
hearted woman dreams of discovery, what steals your smile and how I could bring it back. What makes you weep and how I would erase it, like it never was. I imagine taking your hand and walking the world, freedom, celebrations and creation. Sometimes on dark nights, I think I see eyes like yours and skin like mine, hybrid variety. I don't know where we will end up, I know simply and succinctly I want to take the journey by your side.

Then as dawn paints the sky I become she. Just the mechanics to carry around its cold logic. It clicks and whirs into action. This mechanism knows whats must be done and what must be said. This automation is fire and power. It surges through life, fulfilling its makers work and even though it looks like me, it is naught but a shell. A golem with a heart of survival, it is all blast and flame. This automation will not cross the lines and stays inside what is expected and exceeds the expectations of what a human may do because it is not human. It is the apex of my creation and its mechanical smiles fool most into thinking, it is alive. Not many look close enough to see for this automation keeps them all at bay and so they all say: that woman, they mean that machine. For it feels naught and thinks only in numbers. It has the most amazing capacity for pain and none for joy. the shell of its clavicle is silent as the ticking mechanism of its heart died long ago, only the steam of its own ambition directive powers it now. It makes stacks of things, how they glitter gleam and everyone wonders at all this mechanism has achieved.

At night when I am me, one would think I would dread the dawn, dread becoming she but I don't. Because through her cold eyes, is the only time you will smile at me. I stopped hating she when I realized you prefer her to me. Now she is the apex of my hopes and each morning I change earlier into she, soon I will no longer be me and there will be only SHE . . .

dreams

It unfolded like I always thought it would.
and now I've passed my happily ever after
and ventured far from where this story began
Somehow I lost the thread of our tale
or perhaps it never was
Maybe between the whiskey and smoke
I dreamed it all
The taste of you
The feel of fine fingers
I maybe made it all up
too many dreams
too many hopes
Lay down and drowned
in the great crack inside time
I play it over
and over
and I see me
the words i spoke
My naked desire
and then i know
I gave you promises.
I gave you words
words i had never given before
and wished I had the whole universe
I would have given you that
You spoke naught
And even though its untrue
I know
I dreamed it all
And I awoke alone
I dreamed it all
Unseemly me with you
Convince my mind
It dreamed it all
Convince my heart
It doesn't hurt at all
I am walking now
inside my own
hell
but I only dreamed it all.

Wild One

I often wonder how other women have loved you.

How their courageous hands covered the smoothed curves of your caramel skin and their mouths drank you up like so much fine wine

Sought to keep inside them the concentration of summerlight inside your rich teak wood skin

Did the heat I feel when I stand next to you threaten to burn them to a cinder?

Did the whirls of your long fingers scatter the ash of their orgasm incinerated selves to the four winds?

And stride unabashed into the world

Where you found me?

Whilst I lie here amid the imagination singed sheets illustrating my fevered dreams

Is that midnight voice talking some young one out of her designer dress?

Whilst she keeps her spike heels on, because I know how you like

Those shoes that I will never walk in preoccupy your mind.

How the fine purpose wrought machinery of your decadent mouth

Swallows the sounds of their pleasure

Turns their innocent whites

Into longings for lace

So swollen with the giving and taking

That you inadvertently Spill sex

Into my attempt at normal conversations

I am preoccupied with how you must sound when you

Frenzied word whisper

Provocation, incineration and culmination

Against their domesticity

I think all this

Whilst I look at the catalogue of your beauties

Are you picturing the iron straight tresses of last night’s desire?

Remembering these women,

The women who loved you

Under your finger tips

Last night

But I am not

Not these women

I am she

Wild woman

Free

And despite

All before me

Only I

Dare

Set

Your beast

Free  . . .

4am things I can’t confess

 

In books

In poetry

In plays

In art

Love is often confessed

And dear love

It is often grand

Music

Violins

And star scapes

And I Wish

I long

That I could confess

That I wanted

That I loved

You

Like that

But I don’t

I am not

Not like

The hundreds

The hundreds before me

Slaves to your idoltry

I love you

As I began

Inside

My deepest

Deep

Dark

The raw

Exposed

Pulsing

Nerve

This deep

Six desire

For you

Would

Kill me

Kill you

With it’s ache

So though

Your myriad golden beauties

Deserve flowers

I want you

I love

You

Like a secret

Nurtured

Inside the dark forests

Of my pain

There I can cry

Tears

Of loss

Because Golden You

And dark me

Is

Never be

Impossible-Stream of thoughts 12/05/2015

Sometimes I am the master mason of impossible things
As if my soul has turned on the lathe of time
soothing its rough edges
deepening its tactile curves for these observations
For you.


My love is ever a stalking beast
an impossible
a deviant sensation upon a clean world.
My darkling gaze sees more than you or he or she.
For you


I could say I too am a white clad worshipper at the temple of your perfections
But my tongue is not nubile enough for a lie
Worshippers do not ache to kiss the mouth of their deity
I am an outsider, here where they all know you and your golden looks
I am an outlier and I am enamoured of what mechanisms turn inside your mind
The light of your natural open gaze
For you


It is your dark and not your light that compels me.
The secrets you hold beneath that small sadness
That engages me
I spend the coins of my precious time, lost in the whirl of all the possible strands of our story.
I tell of you again and again.
In so many men
So many virtues
So many faults
All
For you




Even as I turn away from you.
you still do not see
This sea of possibility
for you