Quiet Now, Quiet Now

I write freely, quietly, without you, without your trespass. Love has a texture, whispers and songs in the dark bring a vintage wine, laughter. No offense, but these are my words of straw, written indelibly, finally, to and about you. Life, this pulse, ocean of pleasantness, reaches out, her hands wet and full, deadly too. I yield to her feral call, hungry, naked exploited. Interior world of screams, vast and stolen, wishes upon the suicidal rock. Goodnight and so long. Quiet now, quiet now, to you belongs the kingdom you possess and so long for, crucify your curses there, upon that cross, a good soldier, feminine, marching across the marshes of your own smallness. I will drink the nectar of rest, and you, your twisted mouth, and memories like sores on your tired body.