seasons

Summers end approaches
and I am suffused by thoughts of longer nights
as faint tastes of Autumn mock the seriousness of his sun.
Winter is unknown
sleeping dead as the crone in the Earth, but still
I am reminded of four months from now
when morning gathers a chill around her
caking frost on all the flowers.
It is Spring who defies the doldrum cold
and in the months which follow and proceed her demise
I imagine myself making love against her soft belly
against the new growth bursting forth
from the Earth's reanimated corpse.
I will be possessed in the petals of a dream
an endless honey cream pouring hotly from me
a white bubbling stream
entering rapidly into the sea.

Dove

She sweeps through

this sweet muslim

practically ivory skin powdered

and from the side

I see past black lens

delicate painted eyes

saved for ala and both fathers.

Hair pinned and pinned and pinned

and after all hidden under soft silks

and avoiding guiles

I feel I know her otherwise as a dove

she never gives more than enough

a smirk hardly finding its way to a smile

saved like all honest things

for a vague and antiquated everlastingness.

I will remain young

I will remain young, white, full of love
tied up by ribbons in brown bound curls
drinking wine and come
green tea soaked through with thick fresh honey
and honeycombs pressed between teeth humming like bees
laughter will live happily in my lungs
and hearing great music I will sing
heart swelling up with christs blood
I will bathe myself in spirits
and bathe myself in love
sharing thoughts with the living and the dead
eternity wakened in my head
I will find the end
when I see life removed from suffering.