(no subject)
Thisbe (03.12.2004)
love, a small white petal hanging,
an eyelash on my finger, i wished violently
for a crack in the wall around
my father’s garden. your voice
floated through, pollen on the legs
of Aphrodite’s bees. i covered my head
in a white shawl to meet you
by the jasmine tree. i waited
but the lion
came first,
mouth blooming like cut roses.
on his bloody teeth i saw my skin -- i ran.
i returned, you were splayed
over my cat-torn scarf, a vandalized statue,
the roses of your heart
strewn. your lips split
apart only once, just air, but i heard you
like pollen
our love
a small white petal.
i took your blooming sword, lay
beside you, your eyes
said no
walk away.
inch by inch my belly
swallowed the blade,
the jasmine’s flowers stained by us, love
is a lion.
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i wrote this after seeing this fresco which i found in kind of an odd book called The Art of Suicide.
i am in love with this poem. it made me cry.