Her hands lay gently joined,
her breathing breaching the fortress of a bedroom’s silence

clasped as one, in the very early morn,
her fingers move in motion, wavering, *******
recalling a violin instrument, an unseen youthful memory,
her internality rumbles with a quiet litany,
an indecipherable host of jumbled mumbles,
a cacophony accompaniment to her quietude of steady breathing

I,
study her, as I have done so many mornings prior,
once more, capriciously slipping back inside/beside our bed,
to restart My Sunday morning quiet-like, for as is my wont,
have awoken with the morning dark, treading room to room,
filling my Winslow Homer’s Macintosh mug, with 19.7 fluid oz. of Jamaican beans freshly ground, an instigating odor, a fragrancy
most contradictory, soothing, nonetheless, a steadying, yet a
blaring wake-up call

She, clad my in-her new festive plaid pajama top,
a creamy fabric that begs for my I-dare-not stroke,
is easy prone and that,
pleases me, for I wish to bed beside her, letting her rest
till her mind texts her body, no more! or the mumbles grow
grow nagging onerous and stirring and when her disposition is
well-disposed,  she stirs too,
after her fashion

with a dancer’s grace, her arm slowly rises, resting airborne,
fingers arrayed, splayed and Balanchine arranged, (1)
pointing upwards,
lingering until
the arm falls impromptu, sudden,
as a crescendo striking an apex,
her risen hip-mound,
imitating a bell’s clapper woke reverb,
and she sleeps no more…

<>

Sun Jan 15 2022
in the wee daylight  hours

I search for you, in all the patterns of the skies
In all the single ways the sun melts within the
Ashes of the night,
The way your hair would melt into your eyes, and the way you’d
Push it back
The way your laughter carried through the canopies
Of your chest, the place where i buried my home, and the way you’d
Push me back.
And my thoughts seeped between the crevices
Of your ribs, and yet you still felt so empty.
My thoughts are now left with me.
And the violet hues cut through the sky,
And the lines I write cut through me.

Re words:

rejoint my conscious self,
reiterate, as it is late, I am old,

reread
my prior poems, rewrite them, indeed,
rebuild them, redo them in their entirety,
so you can resell them and be rediscovered!

retake them, rekindle & rearrange in new combinations,
rewarmed, you are re-rewarded in their reassembly,
again reabsorb the moment from wells beneath your skin tissue,
recall the prescient exactitude of what you were then feeling,
readjusted for today’s new filters, recalculate the cost,
replace the cast with renewed images, refreshed faces,
new alpha dogs.

if you can resell them, they will rebuy them, no one the wiser,
thus, regain the old glory, redemption, no need to repent,
just rejoice and sleep another hundred years.


revenged.

Aug 17 2022 11:01 PM