by Amantine B

Along the dim of your room, a memory crept                                                  amassing moths to the tenderness.

Stray fingertips undid your name and wept. Laughter                                               fell to vocal trees from the savage

of air to the soft wrist of her dance, into the weeping                                                of glamour and rich hatreds.

Sorrow time slept in the small of a sun hidden in lust                                               and blue evenings; buried in your name.

Moved to trash. Parody undressed into silence. Soak                                              my heart in wine, drink its beat 

to pulse the drawl of nine lives, abandoning all the loves                                          of mine. Your arrow marks my canvas,

scathed and bled red; stark and harsh, whispered soft                                              and handfed. Pinned to your art,

where did we start: In the shallows or the deep, aligned                                             or perpendicular, of a curve or slid

of the slant, gathered in or abandoned, of weeping                                                      or of laughter. Is this an apocalypse

or an ‘ever after'… or a falling short in the half-light                                                 of its deep, beguiling careless lips,

in praise of human hearts and submissive hips; - of skin                                       into prayers of myrrh.