Untitled
My strangest light catches in the eyes
of brave acolytes who come to lie,
softly shining as newly minted coins.
With a rough caress of recklessness;
in temperate disguise of tenderness,
love always tries touch me where it can.
This light is a branded tribal mark on me,
for only those who are made for me can see
our destined intersections from their towers.
My kindred come to cook and talk for hours,
as we sip each other slow, resining the arching bows
of celestial cellos only we can hear.
One friend claims it’s violet and gold -
radiating about from crown to toe,
making it hard for him to see at times.
Most say the glow is far more subtle,
exhaling hues to shade my moods,
"Quite unpredictably" one once did add!
My strange heart wants a great surprise
in waiting for her ordained prize;
watching to catch one strong and lucid glance
to wrap warm and softly in a sweetest trance.
I kiss my fear of what my light may find in one fierce note,
if it slices through my solitude, while grazing past a bit too fast.
My strangest light hides me from the eyes
of love’s incinerators; the scarred and hungry boys
as they sift and stoke the now familiar smell of smoking ash,
burnt hope recoils from memory like a serpent from the lash.
A greyish cast behind my head alerts me to the coy,
with grimaces for smiles, never green, nor touched by joy.
The Jester always fakes it when he can.
My strange light always catches in the eyes
of gracious soldiers selling no disguise;
bright and proud with treasure on their tongues.
Open hands reach in - unspoken trust.
Languid limbs entwine in honeyed lust.
Love always tries to touch me when it can.
of brave acolytes who come to lie,
softly shining as newly minted coins.
With a rough caress of recklessness;
in temperate disguise of tenderness,
love always tries touch me where it can.
This light is a branded tribal mark on me,
for only those who are made for me can see
our destined intersections from their towers.
My kindred come to cook and talk for hours,
as we sip each other slow, resining the arching bows
of celestial cellos only we can hear.
One friend claims it’s violet and gold -
radiating about from crown to toe,
making it hard for him to see at times.
Most say the glow is far more subtle,
exhaling hues to shade my moods,
"Quite unpredictably" one once did add!
My strange heart wants a great surprise
in waiting for her ordained prize;
watching to catch one strong and lucid glance
to wrap warm and softly in a sweetest trance.
I kiss my fear of what my light may find in one fierce note,
if it slices through my solitude, while grazing past a bit too fast.
My strangest light hides me from the eyes
of love’s incinerators; the scarred and hungry boys
as they sift and stoke the now familiar smell of smoking ash,
burnt hope recoils from memory like a serpent from the lash.
A greyish cast behind my head alerts me to the coy,
with grimaces for smiles, never green, nor touched by joy.
The Jester always fakes it when he can.
My strange light always catches in the eyes
of gracious soldiers selling no disguise;
bright and proud with treasure on their tongues.
Open hands reach in - unspoken trust.
Languid limbs entwine in honeyed lust.
Love always tries to touch me when it can.