»
Archives
»
Open Poetry #27
»
Old Stuff V
| Open Poetry #27 |
|
Old Stuff V |
|
|
mirror man Senior Member
since 2001-01-08
Posts 814 |
ma diablesse She comes to me as night, ma diablesse, under the waxing light of moon, long on the midnight look, a vortex in her cloudy eyes, and for her song a shadow on her marble throat. Cold red is her love flowing to black, the agape rent negative. She smiles and nods her head and says, “Je te veux,” a message sent to feebly echo back from this soul: we are alone with what we know. In the heat of certainty, my love for her lights all things I cannot see by day. And she, the catalytic proof, kisses with a bite. She gives herself, and a moth flutters by, diving to the flower flame, pins itself to a crumbling page. I am the living self-hate, waiting to be gone from the taunt of bartered dreams in a world that only seems. She comforts me. My dreams are air exhaled from a race that rushes to a thoughtless fate, instilled where the I was born, unable to blush at the devouring ego. You are self-deceived, tricked, she sighs, a figment of your mind. And scarred to self-awareness, I ask why. She whispers to me, “Aimez ta doleur.” It is all mine. I reach for more. I am born, at these times, when all the lofty arguments of logic’s dusty pen cannot match the call of pain. Distilled to the id, she knows me with her lips and thighs far better than the I. And silence says it best, no shadowed skies or the merest semblance of penitence. We sweat and slide and slip and breathe, the making of the thing that’s we. Some say God is dead, though I know truth, that God is made in moments such as these, a side hidden from the day, the shade of sanctity. Ma diablesse makes love on the dark side of an inverted truth and only takes the bloody cerements of the man. She says to me, “Benissons ce soir,” and we are angels of the fire. She takes me as I am, and leaves as she came. No obligation but the lingering trace of grief that tells the cold revelation of day, observing the gutter of human kindness and the blank stare at pain. And radio love stutters a pabulum grasp of the memory of what we had. So I am to be. By day I see the twisted jokes of smiling hate and the camaraderie of one telling me it is a self-made fate. But there is more to life, I know, as she shows by the beauty of pain, blood, sweat, and lust. We will go where lovers shun, and live again tomorrow. ANNOUNCING my novel COOL UNIVERSE is now posted in the prose forum. Enjoy! [This message has been edited by mirror man (07-12-2003 02:43 AM).] |
||
| © Copyright 2003 mirror man - All Rights Reserved | |||
|
Kahlil Senior Member
since 2003-04-12
Posts 1881 |
mmmmm.....have to read this many more times...another keeper |
||
|
inkedgoddess Member Rara Avis
since 2002-11-19
Posts 7392Ohio |
Distilled to the id, she knows me with her lips and thighs far better than the I. And silence can she exist outside of the dream? do they ever match up to the dream? once, only once for me......................the best once in my life |
||
|
LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296 |
This was astounding, very much enjoyed! |
||
|
Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
mirror man....emotive and deep....well done! |
||
|
Kahlil Senior Member
since 2003-04-12
Posts 1881 |
it's pretty hot stuff, MM. I wonder how real she is....DON'T TELL ME!!!! hee hee |
||
|
|
⇧ top of page ⇧ |
|
| All times are ET (US). All dates are in Year-Month-Day format. | ||
