Monday, July 11

L'espirit de l'escalier

Light is embroidered on your skin
where the shadows dance against stone walls.
We move, swaddled in music, around
marble pillars, between dripping beeswax
tapers, an ocean of heady honey scent
rising from the dim orange flames
and we are lost in the idea of loving
another person, another twisted
lost soul--just like mine, we think.

Loss is a verdant ocean,
deep and green as your eyes,
now swollen with the days of tears
spent on finding my replacement
on the idea of loving someone
who might understand the echoing darkness
in your head, the music
that could come from anywhere.
Here I am!  Still watching you
from this velvet corner,
waiting, impatient breath held
for the day you cease to mourn.

Love is not always a brilliant blaze,
manufacturer of its own light,
not always something beautiful
and easy to see.
I would give my embers
into your keeping
in a breath, if this empty shade
could still breathe.