When we too parted in blind reflections
Better as ideograms, left out on a thread.
Better as ideograms, left out on a thread.
Have you tasted the mild
milk in the red cup, drifting down
your side, always in an Eastern arc?
I put it on my lips
And breathed
A Dog Spring,
collapsing in slivers
of penetrating rain.
We said the letters over again,
Spelling flower and petal strokes.
Your lips I left covered,
And what was left after
We our hour then upon your chest?
The light rain of this day
Only half past,
the violent gray of memory.
I have thoughts that escape me
upon your angular paper thin flesh.
When we two met, it was in,
In warm Easter skin, facing west;
I come to you now, with a prayer upon the mast.
milk in the red cup, drifting down
your side, always in an Eastern arc?
I put it on my lips
And breathed
A Dog Spring,
collapsing in slivers
of penetrating rain.
We said the letters over again,
Spelling flower and petal strokes.
Your lips I left covered,
And what was left after
We our hour then upon your chest?
The light rain of this day
Only half past,
the violent gray of memory.
I have thoughts that escape me
upon your angular paper thin flesh.
When we two met, it was in,
In warm Easter skin, facing west;
I come to you now, with a prayer upon the mast.
“Transmitting light but causing sufficient diffusion to prevent perception of distinct images.”
