MY APRIL
Had it lasted longer, would it have retained the integrity that shall incentivize us to look back?
Speaking as one experienced with a waiting long leached of anticipation…
Dusting now the ivory keys with my hair rather than tapping the highest note that consistently etches…
I return each weekend to the same black crow smashing itself against the library window, bloodying its beak from having fallen in love with its eyes reflecting cobalt sky…
The cat which does not exist on my window seat that does not exist licks itself where it does not exist before padding over to rub its fur that does not exist against my ankles that, sadly, do exist…
Rain leaving diamonds where they fall -- soon, she shall weave a corset of rain for the poet veiled by hair…
Oh…
Chilled ankles…
Ankles of white marble as if you never leapt off the pedestal made by sad-eyed fathers…
As if his first kiss never unfolded without someone else from your future whispering in your ear: "He is just one of the many you must lovingly release."
As if his first kiss lacked the tang of a sea breeze from a childhood your poor memory keeps attempting to grasp…
The whisper leaking onto the white page: how many more approximations must one live through before reaching the peak of Lindos?
Searching for a horizon is a proven means for filling that eye with light until light spills, light spills…
Light spills like your finger that once traversed a descent across my cheek…
Yes, that, too….
Snow packed and rising against the beveled panes while our lips atop Alpine sweaters have never laughed by a blazing fire…
While we never watched us not blush in yet one more context unknown for "us."
Rise…
Stretch…
Walk to the window from which I shall not fling myself…
Blood on ledge obviates cliché from "unrequited love" --
Except you used the L-word. Except you were generous with the L-word…
How do certain things become ineffectual?
Some blueberries are most delicious when overripe, the purple staining the crevices of the oak table…
The color of pathos forever contained in crevices…
Java awaits.
Now, six million know this: here she can rehearse "Farewell" because he does not read me…
The ivory keys cracked and yellow -- except the highest note still white like frozen light….
A virgin from music.
BRIX
The weeds speak ---
The weeds speak
bending before the breeze
to rustle stiff leaves against each other
Bend closer to listen---
theirs is an incomprehensible language
translated to mean: