< lotus flower >
.
.
Prosthetic armory
leave this world with a lotus flower embroidery.
All the blooms are dead
engrave the summer on your chest.
Eat the nectar we've saved up
depart only when you feel strong enough.
The chlorophyll's all drained, the world once again washed in grey.
Lover, don't speak, conserve this
sparse energy.
Veins and arteries on leaves
all too soon resemble the cartilage of your ears
and once vibrant hues
now debris like the grains of sand stuck to your feet.
Eat this honey, let it return your
heat, and your rosy cheeks
and the bees, o the bees
let them sting so we'll feel alive again.
Your body is writhing like a crab
ready to leave behind its shell
you're a snake on its last tier of incarnation
shedding all mortal association.
And who do I call?
Who to bring you back?
Heaven above streaked with trails
nobody there to hear my wails.
I can only keep your corpse, your holding cell,
alive for so long
perhaps this was wrong, I see it now
my greed
your agony, how it manifests in the veins on your temple
your ashen cheeks
there on your corneas, your eagle eyes,
your tear ducts
not even your breaths are strong enough.
Eat this last lotus flower, but leave me the stalk
leave me the fragrance of summer, of bark
and the memory of how you scaled a tree.
The rustling leaves
our glee
and how you held your head underwater.
The roaring currents like a swarm of bees
the invisible hand stirring
the grass, the violent greens
and what you said to me: this right here will never cease.
The day before yesterday I watched the first buds bloom
unfathomable
yesterday I sowed the harvest
you, a miracle
tomorrow I will let the soil rest
so,
for now, dearest
let's spend the remainder of our time saving
our precious breath.
Let there be peace in quarrel's stead
from whose strength we draw
to brave death, until
the final hour from our fingers pries this lotus flower.
.
.
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YOU ARE READING
awaken, my love (2019)
PoetryEach spring she revives her cosmic lover back into the body she fashioned out of her life force, and each winter, when her powers drain, she's left with nothing but an empty shell and barren lands. ------- These poems are as much an ode to spring a...
