*after easter
www.by6pm.art
for fifty days i fasted,
knowing no-thing,
save the retching of my own flesh,
save the pit of my own stomach.
*
for your arrival safely we sold
our cattle, fashioned a festival
our first kiss –a first sip of wine
on the day break of Pentecost,
at last my fast was over.
*
we fashioned circles of precious metals
and strung them around each other’s
vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum
proclaimed endurance upon the coming
event horizon of time itself.
*
space swells with the ancient ruins
of men and women who shed tears
tracing the constellation trails
from one end of an ocean to another
filling the void of voiceless oceans
with metaphoric rapture and appetite
for adventure.
*
Charles, the smell of desert sand swims
firmly between your pores,
your body warm as the land
cut like mountains
between your biceps
where my head lays
basking in the moments
you are here.
*
how i adore you so.
*
proclaim eternity
enter matrimony – eyes wide open
place his heart upon a pedestal
let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle
seduce his woefully mortal heart.
*
roots and petals of calendula
poultice to quell the spasms
you take me in my blood
and i take you in my arms
when the nightmares hurt
worse than the back pain.
*
you remind me that even in the winter
the carmine-colored cardinal coos
and whistles, awakens the trees and fills
the cold world with sweet song.
*
i’m unraveled in your high collar,
blue and burned in a freak fire,
raptured by the desert
nothing is forever, we know,
yet everything is possible.
*
there is no going back.
*
on this river of time
except maybe we’ll escape
the event horizon burn
as radiation about
the black hole’s radio halo.
*
dying light is a subjective notion
when you limit every poetic persuasion
to the limits of the human eye.
*
we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade
into spacetime tapestry,
devote each second
as the present is our own reward
the art of being in love,
the pleasure of being alive.
*
the future is a metaphor—
as in calling the ocean endless
naming riptides undertow
we: new and other molecules
blur into water, two bodies
one brackish soul. –six pm
A poem about reuniting with my husband.
