Ashes of Roses
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Love, that unfortunate biochemical cocktail,
might be tolerable if it were truly blind --
sightless and limited as justice, perhaps --
oh, anything aside from this myopic myth-grandeur
through which ensnared lovers seethe and glide.
Hatred, of course, is cleaner, smaller, clearer:
it reduces, de-fables, smartly sizes what it seizes
leaving only the plucked bones of cold mineral reality
in a steady view as trustworthy as carefully laid plans.
My love, how drunk you’ve become with sensuality,
how unwary, how careless, how lushly sloth
and tonight the roads to lushness are every bit as slippery
as your palms, your fleshy neck, your lying tongue.
But wait, my little weasel -- how you wriggle for your hole
jangling your keys in your hand by the door – just let me
hold you a moment and inhale your clean smell, now it’s free
of that musk you’d be wearing if I let you slink back.
There’s a velvety darkness just outside these four walls
and a whippoorwill wind whistling wild in his needs.
Once you step through that door how quickly you’ll dissolve:
one small, brittle sugar cube slip-sinking into coffee.
Even now your eyes are glazed with the waggle of wanted ravaging,
I can feel your fingers ache in their craving for soft savagery.
Closer still, in your pulsed pupils, I can see where your sight fixates:
you’ll ride a rash, black wind to rake the petals off her sex.
Do I feel like a violation – one you can’t protest? Will you fight me?
Would you dare throw my arms from off your neck? No, you’ll let
as I’ve let, allow as I’m allowing and give me your hard, dry lips
while outside a feral cat is howling -- bend to me, my Judas.
Love is not blind. Love dilates with half-useless gossamer sight,
where hatred brings cold comfort to fevered eyes. My pet, I
assure you I see clearly if my eyes are wet; I feel purely
if my cool hands tremble on your chest, my lovely wreck.
I’ve set a trap, a gaping maw awaits and once it swallows you
there are searing freedoms I can’t express, a luxury near madness…
I may become so weightless I’ll translate into pure light, uncontainable
and wholly innocent as a sky of riven snow, unmarred by imprints yet…
No, love is not blind but death is blissfully ignorant of sight
and I would sell my very soul for ignorance, tonight.
"All the darkness in the world
cannot put out the light
of one candle"