For Richard, The Lion-Hearted - Poem by rejina warner
I keep my love for you wrapped up in ribbons
in a box I made in my heart
until you should want to open it.
I hold it at ransom.
For days on end I try not to open the cache
at the mementoes I want stored there
locked up tight from the inside out.
But the filmy wisps of your words
the smoky topaz of your eyes
the little brown dots that freckle your face
and thighs and back
refuse to be tied in place.
I don't put the tokens in plain view,
Where I could be caught in their muse,
on end. I don't look at your picture, a newspaper clipping,
the only icon I have of you, shut away
in that drawer.
These things, the fruited damp dreams,
the nuts and bolts of hopes still alive,
luminous nebulous clouds that permeate the frame of
my dream waking.
I touch that spot
where your lips will kiss.
I sense your pique
next to mine
In the dark
I feel you tensing, stopping, firming
plunging the break
stroking what I cannot myself.
For want of you...
I brush your hair back from your neck
Free it from the sweat we create.
I treasure the consummate moments
I can rouse myself to find that key
and put my excuses, my fear, the flame
back into the fire.
Wanting, wasting on the sacrificial altar what belongs.
Stealing light from God is not good.
The fragrance wafts up to Heaven
is fielded aloft by my suke.
Now in place the draft of my life
back in its' illuminated manuscript
the call of the Publisher.
I Will. I Will. I will not. I won't.
I could but I don't.
God will choose what I cannot.
Dark treasure. Sealed.
I speak for you. I look at
a roster yet
to seek the register on the logbook
He keeps daily.
Will the loaming find you
mold you into shape,
nestle you in my spooning,
pay the price?
Forfeit I cry.
while I live. Messages unsent,
profiles created without consent
streams of consciousness he said
threads unqueued, not followed.
She waited on the hill
while I watched him leave the stage
he did not read the invitation
I spoke too soon
I sent those words through the window
Head down he exits
my dream is burning
on the parking lot.
I love you still
Leave her in the past, vomit to the dogs, where
We speak the same language
Meeting the same thoughts
Visit the heart
where my longings throng.
Ask me again.
I will say this time.
Say my heart on my sleeve
Tender speak the words that crowd my throat.
Comments about For Richard, The Lion-Hearted by rejina warner
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