Carving a Body into the Shape of Love.
i.
Your body is a sea of emotions I’ve been trying to sail but it keeps raging —
but you keep raging and how does one even ride a stormy sea?
ii.
Your body is the alphabet of love I was told to master,
to recite until my lips were a fountain of metaphors
spewing forth chapters of you in a holy hysteria
but you are made of a thousand characters and
how does one ever memorize that?
iii.
Your body is a story with a leitmotif of love —
enthralling, alluring — uncanny.
So how does one write it without lust?
Without falling in love? Without getting lost?
iv.
Your body is a keg of badly brewed ale served on my table:
sour as a glass of fresh regret; acrid as a lovers’ betrayal,
yet I keep drinking you. Yet you are the only liquor I drink —
v.
Your body is a malevolent piece of clay in my potters’ room that gives me the ability of telekinesis — of teleportation —
and carves itself into the shape of love while I sleep.
vi.
Your body is a novena of purification I prayed and ended on day 5
because I reeked of you and your demons —
because my prayer of exorcism mellowed into an initiation chant —
because I moaned praises to your phallus and called it worship.
vii.
Your body was a resting home for me, a safe haven and heaven.
Until heartbeat after heartbeat, you engulfed me,
froze my heart into a crystal of love,
and became my burial ground.
Hey, thanks for stopping by to read, it means the world to me. More from me here.
