It's Sorrow, Love - pipTalk Forums

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Corner Pub #2

It's Sorrow, Love

IndigoEve
Member

since 2003-01-10

Posts 279
Etched in the illusion of time

0 posted 2004-04-01 10:30 PM

We want reasons as to why fingers brush over water,
and answers for what solidity truly is,
because illusion is alive and my hands feel seasons changing
in the flaxen strands upon my enfevered daughter's brow,
inertia like a sickness to her felicitous disposition.
I close my eyes and I am her sister, less a mother,
ages ago watching
my blood weave itself with her veins.

Turn away from sin, my brother. Leave this wretched girl.

Words are silver aye immortal
even staining preacher's lips, a man of God,
with unspoken/unmeasured/unreachable sin

where is the other half of me, who saved a piece of our flesh, bones,
lineage,
who lent her this disease.

Lost?

I wrapped her in the sheets we made love upon, hoping fibers
still carried scents of lavender indigo passion
the kind where skin is set aflame by tongue?s seductive sampling,
in a slow, digestable way.
Will the essence of our beautiful urgency heal her wounds,
and curb the sounds
that echo in my mind's attentive ear?
Dare I dream if you can still remember how I moan..

passively entangled by her pyrexia, I sleep through a myriad of nights
whilst inhaling the irenic fumes of delirium
she exhales in uneven rhythm,
and our ghosts {though not touching}
i n t e r t w i n e
intangibly, with a chord of twilight that stays pressed against my wrists.

Pray God, cure her.

However distantly, I borrow from her infectious aura, a memory of
insistent cadence, trembling as I feel the rise and fall of us,
at the core of her unsteady breaths. I had tried to scream your name, a word
woven by the inviolate gods,
but my throat was too swollen from orgasmic bliss.
Oh! The memory is untouchable..

She stirs from her cocoon, at the sounds of my bleeding,
asking what it was that makes me sigh..

I turn slowly
{her fingers smell as you did}
"It's sorrow, love."
and she believes me, never knowing of
the desire that still rages as we sleep.

If I were to touch you, would you bleed a velvet river, running miracles through the sodden ground? --Moi

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