Standing by Your Grave

I wanted to stay by your grave
and watch over you
and guard you
and keep you company
and tell you that
inside in the darkness
you are not alone,
I wanted to stay
and wait for you,
for the day of your return,
of your rolling the stone
and coming back to life,
smiling, laughing
like you always used to,
as if you haven’t left at all,
as if we only separated for a moment
and in that tiny moment
you were just out with your friends,
or working on one of your paintings,
perhaps that one you painted for me
and you never got to finish.

I am staying by your grave,
and though I know in my heart
that you told me not to,
to go on on my way,
and that my waiting is just absurd,
I know, sister, I know, Sarah
and I can almost hear your voice,
but your voice, you see,
the wind has carried,
and the wind has lost it somewhere,
deep in the woods,
or high in the sky.

So I stand by your grave and wait
and sometimes your voice
dews on my face,
and I wake up to myself crying,
and I wake up to myself
telling you that I love you,
that every bone in my body
has missed you
with such an excruciating
and indescribable pain,
I wake up to myself crying
and holding out my heart
like a candle shivering
in the rain and in the dark
and waiting for you to come back,
to lift the darkness
and come back home.

Free Verse # 369 (touching her isn’t enough)

Preparing the day,
your fragrance
somehow
rubbed against my neck,
you whose face
from a secret window
always shined upon my life.

~

Deserting my eyes
the butterflies of sleep
are fluttering somewhere
following the scent
of the flowers in your skin.

~

Evening wind,
her dark breath
combing the tall trees,
taking desire by the hair
and dragging her down
into the caves
deep in the womb of the sea.

~

Her hips swayed feline
a lioness
wearing the ocean for a mane
and preying on the best
of love and sex,
drinking the finest
of wine and poetry.

~

Touching her isn’t enough; I have to live inside of her and she has to live inside of me.

~

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Photographer unknown

Joined still
when dawn breathed,
a single body
jasmine white
quivering on the breast
of sleep as it heaved.

~

On the altar
of her fragrance
worlds are crushed;
she is a wild flower.

Free Verse # 368 (checkmate, orgasm, poetry)

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Photographer unknown

All day all night
in her skin
dancing with the muse,
each etched verse
a chess move;
the spiral culminates,
checkmate, orgasm,
poetry.

~

Your belly
the altar on which I place
petal by petal
all the poetry of the world;
set aflame
your skin drinks the ash
and you become
the world’s poetry.

~

If I could touch her I would choose to quiver her heart with poetry.

~

Of his breath
she constructed
a seashell
and therein she slept
cradled all night

~

He ached
to rage over her
and into her
like a wild storm,
pressing her into him,
a seed in his soil,
planting her spine
in the dirt of his being.

~

I could only touch her the way sunlight caresses the face of the earth in the early hour of dawn.

~

A small cabin
in the heart of the woods,
snow falling thick
erasing everything,
and you and I
hemmed in,
by the window
drinking tea or wine
and reading poetry.