Monday, 18 July 2011

The more she laughed; the less of him there was.

The more she laughed; the less of him there was.

I watched them both,
Pried into their silhouettes, believing
In the sun, the setting sun, the baby’s breath,
The power of one, alone I thought
About the love they had become,
About the knots around their feet,
About hell and all its fading streets,
And sweetly uttered,
In my thoughts of all hell’s streets I sweetly uttered this;

The love I see before me conquers death,
Makes a bed inside the grave,
This is love’s amazing breath,
Deep within your darkest veins,
Howling at the blood red rain,
And I, a man of only plain
Importance, bless you both,
I kiss the cloth you wear.

With his apprehension seething,
Singeing, reigning its erosion
Down, he knelt in sweat, and begging
Burned himself before her bed,
Bleeding, bent his brittle breath
And softly touched her body’s wealth,

When after, I opposed the memory,
They invaded me,
Armies of their afterthought
In the still frame flickers
And my peace and jealous bickers
Peered upon them, just surrendered,
Captive, captivated too,
Bound into their pleasure,
That a creature can be sacrificial
In the face of beauty, makes official
My sorrows aborted and bitter,

A prism, an etch, his shadow, her glass,
And the more she laughed; the less of him there was.

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