(no subject)
Our Last Act by Anthony Anxagorou
It’s at that moment
I remember what its like to love you again
when you have been gone for seasons, forbidden, starving both my eyes and blood.
Our last act sees me fall into the wind of your open breath,
climbing manically the scale of your rising breasts
as they sit governing like proud moons
posing firm as if queen-hills or mountains or daughters of sky that know only to grow.
There I find myself
drifting over every perfection your body of dark ocean sets
closing both our hungry mouths with kisses that repeat over twists
of midnight, of uncanny weekdays and troubled sleep
until rain fills the windows with its quiet solitude.
I missed everything about you
those ineluctable convulsions that left your body laying dead to surrender
defeated by the sword of my love
turning you over to face every ugly side of me
in worlds that can only bleed into one another
like the hearts found in the base of wounded rivers.
I have stumbled back to you ashamed
after the injury of your absence led me further to disaster,
here I find a cot called refuge where this carnal language can spin like magic
on the glide of hot tongues that give pubic bodies
to the bareness of heaven
under skin that screams, thighs that part with the fondness of islands
whilst my tears fall between like the sweat that melts together our longing.
This is how we are to be in our last act
still unable to sit together and explore the repose that finds all good harmony,
cremating instead the hand that would never find that dreamy rapture,
that uniform that fits all kind lovers,
instead we wait dressed as polished coffins
whilst all that is ours wanes around a ferocious zeal into sleeves of black blindness.
So here we are once again, nothing but beasts adjoined by an obstinate lust
consummating at the speed of frightened hearts,
until the morning curtains are opened wide and we part, as estranged shoulders
hang laden with indelible doubt.