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Poem
I can't
Now that that name 
Has dominated my life,
An evensong with
Everlasting lyric
That at times when I may
Be still
I can recite through memory.
It is yet still new to me.
So many are the fresh syllables
That lay undiscovered and foreign
In the pit of my mouth.
So strange that I 
Am the one to recognize it,
To have it strike me
Again and again;
An enduring ocean mist
That blows and drapes itself
Across one's face,
Old lace slipping over new skin.

Your skin;
A volatile shade of pink
And pear blossoms,
A milky dream of stars,
Eternally lurking
Incandescent and overwhelming 
In my eyes. 
My eyes that were once
Graced by the prism of emerald light
That is your eyes.
Dark and mild though they may be,
Temperate and civil though they may seem,
Those eyes have conquered my disposition.
Yes, those eyes and that mouth.
They have victored over me

And I am the faulty.
I am the err. 
I am true cowardice.
I touch with a hand that
Disgraces itself,
Recoils to that empty tumultuous
Abdomen, and takes refuge there
Alone.
And perhaps I dare say
I see your palms are cool
And summery
With fingers that grace 
The edge of your lip as you speak.

You speak
In that wild voice,
Tempestuous and terrific,
Beating down upon me and
Tormenting my ragged soul
As I lay quivering;
My arms and legs
Curled into myself,
A lowly spider,
An out of water fish.

And you;
A perfect skylark,
Delicate albatross,
Weathered impetuous grackle,
Bitter-sweet finch.
With stifled laughter 
You may encompass me
In that sharp, pensive beak.
You swallow me
And I fall heavily to the pit of you
With putrid satisfaction.

I am the crossbow 
That kept you waiting.
I am that horrid bite,
Stinging your palate
And aching your gut.
I am that hot, sticky lunch
You gulped down without thought
Or consequence.
I became that sickly stone
Waiting, ghastly inside you.
A stone that wonders 
In each passing second;

Can you feel the weight
Of me,
Ever tickling and pulling
Like a severed limb?
Can you feel the steady pulse
Of my attraction,
A fatal plague that
Has engulfed my being?
Can you know nothing more
Than this glowering red;
A governing force,
This reverberating dream?
Can you awake in the night,
Wetted lips parted desperately 
In the smoldered dark,
And hunger for anything
But the petty end
To all this undeniable suffering?
I cannot.
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