Tuesday, March 20, 2012

Rhapsody for Horn, or the Jeremiah Weeping Papers


Rhapsody for Horn, or the Jeremiah Weeping Papers

I. Treble

I left
            the window      open,
found you
            creeping through;
closed my eyes,
red-rimmed and buried
                        beneath
your lips.
            my ears caught
the ghost of                  your pulse.
            you pressed
your name       
                        into my ribs.
I sighed a prayer
                        &let you in.


II. Overtone

I wear you, a now-familiar
                        nightshirt.
you caress
            my left-side chest,
                        measuring pulse,
            looking as if to memorize,
                        but you don’t say so.
Instead, you wrap
            yourself around me
                        our palms mirror
            hands on hearts.
Wide-eyed,
            I hold my tongue until
                        we share
            the same space,
                        the same sweet
            inhale
                        exhale.

you wear me well.


III. Rahab

You slip beneath
the curtain slit,
crawl into bed with me.
I want to ask you
how you are,
but already know
the answer.
You are silver, streaming
 into pieces, stashed
between the sheets.
Taste of metal, my lips
catch your
serrated edge,
bleed a little. You carve
me open
kiss the wounds until
we see what hides
beneath.
Layered skin
and muscles
pull away, reveal
raw pink insides.
I bite my tongue
bite your lip
my bruised flesh
begs your tender
misuse.
I press against you,
seeking
to sink into your
bones,
melt into your
forever touch—
 but
you are bolted lightning,
brief
and
heated.
Morning finds you missing,
my hands clench
the space
you leave
behind

IV. Vienna

Wrapped you
around myself-
or                     tried to, anyway.
Wanted you
to be the binding,
one       ripped
seam married
to the other.
You laughed                 at my clumsy fingers,
the stitch in your side
loose.
You kept
your                                         distance.
Wanted to keep my
pride,
but I never      
had talent for
the mending.


V. Adonis

I looked
for you today.
You were not where    
I remembered.
My hand found
the cage
around
the fleshy beat
you used
to measure,
pried away
your                 name,
but
it stained
my palm instead.

I left
            the window open,
prophet.




(Note: heavily revised)

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