Wednesday, December 29, 2010

Longing is an eternal gnawing of raw knuckles

The infinite imagined impossibilities
little perforations on the wall-
of linear thought, my targetless arrow.
Sometimes here, sometimes there
Sometimes caught in a horizontal stare.
Where does the waxy molten skin end?
Where do heavens begin? Dripping darkness-
all over the tiled floor and twitching fingers.
I curl into myself feeling bones eating bones.

Longing is an eternal gnawing of raw knuckles
I’m terrified of my love for you,
of its own destructive strength
howling within its furious silence.
How far does the musk of your sweat widen?
cross-stitched with the thunder in my eyes?
Demented, doomed in its incompleteness
a fine crochet of misery and longing
woven around my lichen grown face.
The little displacement of air, occupied
by my quaking frame is an endless desert
of tangled thorns, the garden of my torment.
Each time I feebly grope for you, you brute!
Needles of grief pierce something-
malleable, mad and metaphoric within.