“He is dead, but my heart is not broken,
Do you think it wicked of me?”
Wicked, perchance, but oh, oh!
That this confession could possibly imply
that your brimful, heart-shaped heart
has spilt and made room - a little tepid corner,
for long a waiting groveling sojourner!
That crawling on my knees – all fours
I can climb those precipitous, flesh walls
and dive breathless, into that warm spice-laden sea!
That your innocent heart-cleaving admission,
unknowing, admits me!
.
.
.
But what in this entire hullabaloo, heart, of ignorant naïve you?
What of that shifty assassin you harbor, heart, – cloaked guilt?
O where, heart, will you hide, seeking refuge from yourself?
How far, heart, will you run, on tiny unaccustomed cat-feet?
Saunter in shadows, forever you shall…
Where wistfully I’ll grope.
Groping, catching
whiffs of you
slowly I shall desiccate.
Smothered painless, unawares
in perfume of your smell!
Oct 14th and 16th, ’08.
Do you think it wicked of me?”
Wicked, perchance, but oh, oh!
That this confession could possibly imply
that your brimful, heart-shaped heart
has spilt and made room - a little tepid corner,
for long a waiting groveling sojourner!
That crawling on my knees – all fours
I can climb those precipitous, flesh walls
and dive breathless, into that warm spice-laden sea!
That your innocent heart-cleaving admission,
unknowing, admits me!
.
.
.
But what in this entire hullabaloo, heart, of ignorant naïve you?
What of that shifty assassin you harbor, heart, – cloaked guilt?
O where, heart, will you hide, seeking refuge from yourself?
How far, heart, will you run, on tiny unaccustomed cat-feet?
Saunter in shadows, forever you shall…
Where wistfully I’ll grope.
Groping, catching
whiffs of you
slowly I shall desiccate.
Smothered painless, unawares
in perfume of your smell!
Oct 14th and 16th, ’08.
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