Corbeau

Some night you will find me,
under the stars
my hands clutched - claw like
palms pooled with rubies.
Clever corbeau, my eyes will say,
this was the only treasure I had left.
You need not scavenge what was given freely -
plucked out to guard against your breast.
Though not an unkindness,
you and I, are murderers by nature
of the kindest sort.
A flock not of angels,
or carrion crows,
but here still, there are feathers -
brushed over my skin,
and a crush of velvet blackness
to find my hand in the dark.

-For J

Dawn

Here in the night beside you,
may I be lain to rest.
(for a thousand small deaths exhaust me)
with nothing regretted and nothing left undone,
my spirit sated and inclined to slip
like white silk pulled from a medium's mouth.

Here, pressed against you with cooling skin,
(salt tasting from spent passions)
I could follow the rhythm of your breathing
deep and hypnotic
and drift into blissful oblivion; quiet, endless

Wavering between planes,
I may flicker there in the inky dark,
the azure flame of a low candle guttering -
until the comes pale dawn
(when for your sake, perhaps) - I will rouse.

Come shake your sister from her moribund state
and warm her corpse cold lips,
mon frère soleil -
for a rapturous moment stolen
an entwining of my errant soul with your flesh
and a thousand more deaths to die amongst the living.

for a friend
1/30/14

Eulogy

Let it never be said I was not dedicated.
Let it never be spoken of - my passion impaired
There was never an instant the waves didn't hit me -
There was never a time when my soul was spared.
There was never a second that I was not present.
There was never a moment my eyes were unclear -
Don't let me fool you, I had always been watching,
Don't let me convince you I never had cared.
My desire was pure, and fine, and constant -
I filled in the gaps that were left behind.
You will never see the flame of my being -
The light and the color, only heat to the blind.
Let it never be stated, I was less than devoted -
I gave all I had, till my spirit was bled.
Let it never be said, I was not dedicated -
and let it never be proper, speaking ill of the dead.