Ear-ly Eve-ning

At the end of the day, 
when the crickets find me

most attentive to their feast of roses and drunken

nectar songs,

The darkness that settles in the pit I carry,

this stone heart needs no theorist

to confirm this is where the swallowed

Information has been broken into dark energy

as a compression of all things

in one day

Though they needed my light to see

and absorbed all thermal emissions,

fueled by love and friction

seared in and cauterized, the hole

Space for consolation with these over-

flowing words, no sense of black contains

All meaning

At the end of another day,

crickets had their final say.




Painting by Henry Golden Dearth [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Femme

Lips for licking words
sweet and sour said to taste, tongue
buds roses and thorns.




Image of painting by Władysław Czachórski [Public domain], First Roses (1891) via Wikimedia Commons.

Best Bend Forward

By bend and nose
by eyes and toes

we can only
go a head
of ourselves
instead

of looking up
stopping to stoop
and smell a beauty
that eyes cannot spell

what others don't see
what we cannot tell
about the roses in your past
kneeling eyes downcast

By not being Here
By smelling your own Fear.



Image of painting by John William Waterhouse [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, The Soul of a Rose, 1908.