MAUDLIN MAWS▪︎Poetry (3)

43. Weaving by the means of lack

His skin_ fading it's excellent glamour Might have gone blithe
For the long time she took to retaliate a response to his inquiries;
He rolled in splattered cardstock letters with his amatory memoirs
Varnished with the cumbersome exultation the gust of her poise brings forth
Her name a cheer torture;
The most of all lexeme splintering his words' black travesty
Into truest vermeiled strokes of red

Outside the utters of his thoughts,
The cries of his hopelessness echoing from his own lobes
Auntumn's stibules still leak sullen and camel on the pavement,
Never ceasing even with his clamors corroding in bristles his house's fittings;
The walls tottering, the paintings bleeding, and the mirrors reflecting him_ breaking
Whimsical in his scaffolding plinth
Preaching, a suffused howl stuck in the paring of his chest

And love rows a man again to the tart deep end
The neptune zephyr mining what fossils of life her breath left in him
A brine carrion veering on the relics of her seas
Adrift he treads
Salt-chucked fingers and waterlogged spears of his heart's whispers
Doucing in the leaning of her resolute tides
Biding his time on every wuthering coast her eyes ever set the blue gaze upon

Not deffering to how deluting those streams she slugs down his arteries in
Slandering his body to a thinning of will;
A dove in according he sits in his cage
Unfastening his hubris to her damsel's sorcery_
But no glided wand spewing perce incandescene had fell a hoop's motion on him
She was no specter sealing Circe's beckoning deceit in pramnian wines and grated goat's cheese
Or a night-beam patched with Hekate's twin ghost-hounds serving at her ankles

She swayed telerrian scores on her calves
Knocking herself trying to collapse witout impairing her mettle
No vials of pink mystical powders, dried marjoram and chive accommodating her racks_
What does scourge down the columns of his spine
What retains him standing on two buckling feet
Is a thing innefable to twenty-six chimes No matter the amalgamations' of their morsels

Though they can be shaffing to the rhythm of his great agonies' ontogeny
In pictorial lines; ballads, odes, elegies and so on
This malady befalling Men ago simpler days
The birth of half-made hearts in the nurse of promised full-fledged beauty
Is an undeclared portent
Unmessurable to uncapsulate
Spreading to the crevice of every grapevine protected pillar
Yet failing tenderly to infect my thrust out meeting fingers
Leaving me imagining no ends for love
And surmising the same for its lack

27/5/2023