Parallel
As the darkness reaching out for the darkness,
her black scalpel eyes met mine across
the crushing divide of a revelling throng.
The amateur axe band strangled a bargain basement
hard rock song, born of a talent cremated at birth,
deservedly consigned to ashen oblivion.
Her prurient, feral crimson gown bore precipitous
neckline plunging down, stopping some small distance
short of her succulent, perfect navel
I imagine.
As if the marble finger of an ancient god of dreams had
stabbed the "mute" on some cosmic remote control,
the squeals and howls of wolverine party animals, the blackboard
screech of lousy rock and roll, cut abruptly out of frame.
Silence kissed my eardrums with lips like sudden death,
I hardly drew a solitary breath, only stared, locked upon the
twin abyss' of her black hole pupils, ebony irises,
feeling myself magnetically reeled and reeling in.
Electrical conductivity skittered epileptically about my palpitating heart;
a faulty blue laser skipping and sliding upon a scratched cigarette-burned CD.
Damned screaming skulls and "Auld Lang Syne" despotism
jump-started this momentary glitch in time's fabric.
Harsh trespass of cacophony, acute and violent,
aural assault and battery exploded on this reverie.
And in a sea of human chains, a soup of sweating limbs and torsos,
of shattered silence,
she was gone.
As arcane ditties were ritually slaughtered on a Stratocaster,
my flesh turned the dying colour and texture of sickly alabaster.
I was drunk, weeping, mourning, insane,
aware I would never see her again.
The night solidified, a fortress of granite, folding batwing walls,
shutting me out of it's embrace; alone in a darker place;
spelling it out in starkest script: I would never taste her flesh, kiss
her lips or touch her face.
I wondered if she felt the same loss, the grief, hollow desolation,
writhing, burning, cruelly denied, in Hell; bludgeoned by the
ironic, knowing
the highways we walk upon this earth were cursed to eternally be
parallel...
Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005
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