The Lady in My Head

The fall of feet tread lightly on my mind
As softly spoken birds fly sign to sign
And languor spreads like torpid smoke, resigned
To lungs that lazily endure.

I tell red lips that part for my embrace
That food and wine and thought on tongues all taste
Like pure ideas riddled with disgrace,
A fraction of their former glory.

Words get close, I say, but nothing more.
They tunnel round the Point of points like war,
Slipping down the drain to evermore.
You’re left with tranquil waves of silence.

She purses lips with care and softly smiles
To tell me don’t despair o’er words compiled,
That symbols share the space in which we lie
With others and ourselves: a nexus.

We stand apart in hopeless chaste desire,
Walking rope strung proudly o’er the mire
Where Egos rest. Put upon a pyre,
You will surely burn alone.

Loneliness rests not upon her tongue.
She takes my forehead, resting there her thumb
And leaves an ashy imprint of her song
Then walks away in waves of peace.

She leaves me lying on the canyon floor,
A grassy canyon, wanting nothing more,
No words nor evocations to explore,
A lingering smoke, butt dressed in red.


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