Thursday, 30 January 2014


It is on silent afternoons
Such as this, when—
With my legs
Up a table,
And my hand balancing the stem
Of a tall glass of golden wine, I lie
Drunk enough for analgesia
And awake enough
To appreciate your loving eyes
Do I realize that with you
I am me, incomplete in achievements,
Indecisive in choices,
Incorrigible in habits…
But you love my tainted, rusty armor
And you love my questionable impulses,
And you worship every inch I touch…
Are you the effect of
An unknowingly uttered spell?
Or the blessing of whichever god
Watches over the earth, sun and moon?
Because beauty such as yours
Is too bright for my eyes,

And too precious to my soul…

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