Sweet Heat

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
a poem of what goes missing

Submitted: July 13, 2008

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 13, 2008



love? it was more like dragonflies

and the lust to grasp scarlett abdomens at dawn amidst the humming.the madness.

and the sepia-colored flight:  like tea that stains

and drags traces across the flirtatious atmosphere.

it was like chilled honey, creeping along the side of the jar,

but danced like dangerous girls drunk from the vine after the last blue flowers have fallen.

time is the cheater here: not you.

and your touch. your touch shook my body, like the ferry's shudders

your touch is a wound, and by loving it, we learn to love what goes missing.

when the stars have told secrets to the corn's folded ears, microphoned cells

the paranoid crickets: they smell of vanilla musk.


we dont fall in love. it rises through us

like the sepia that raced through our capillaries, inside the chambers of our heart, to atruims and ventricles.

while time and fevers burn away. while i let the wind softly round your dreaming head.

but that which is comfort to the flesh is sometimes torture to the bones.

and whatever damage might result: we are not to be blamed.

love is an autocrat and shall not be disobeyed.

a terrible gesture of tenderness, your mouth gave the last taste of blue.

and when we usually start to die, i refuse to remember the way a drunkard forgets.

you carried betrayal like a mantis, folded in your chest. and released a sickness

that can make you so ill, yet doesnt have the decency to kill.

sometimes even the false is tender.

and as the dragonflies drone past the raspberries, swollen as the brains of insects,

i softly damn you

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