Crushing
the central point
tiny tinder twigs
pubic symphysis
against your
vulva-velvet dome
Did I do this
Club, club to rub out what was
Did I do that thing
so hateful to you
the one
most loved
Or was it desire
feeding and nesting on fire
While with a pitch fork
the stabs came inwardly
secretly so,
though forever without sin
I close my mouth
against the words
lest they escape –
Prisoners on the run
We scream sanctuary not from them
but from the voices huddled within
3.
In my dreams it was gentler
there were no bouts
fists and feet
heel as staves
raging in paroxysms
while the room dropped and spun
In the quietude
between night and dawn
we lay
The thrum of your
beating, thundering warmth
heart inside my skin
There you would ne’er voice it
nor wink in self -assured acclamation
Within your breast
certainty beamed
and the blade
was sheathed
I could hear you
low, unafraid
though the reckless and galling sea
pitched and
tossed
me
o’er the railing
heart submerging
neath the cool black glass
tempered pane
away
away
from the surety of your gaze
the unsteady rage
In my dreams
it was a gentler thing
and the words themselves
remembered
not the sour lit craze
but the solid glowing flame
not the fists shooting
death drones
into the secret place
where Venus reigns
not the dusky hours of screams
unanswered
my innocence deflowered
but the cannon writ
of love, which in its beauty
is silent but not extinguished