Amabilissima: Written Roses
J.S Lee
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 J.S Lee
First Affection
Vision:
Warm moon with ground up roses sprinkled all about the surface
Perfect alabaster curve all covered up in tiny grains of ginger
A face so fair stars nested in its windows
And all along it many freckles
Taste a while
Sweet breath like peppermint
How potent
And commanding to the nose
How warm and cool it is at once
How stealthily it crept from lotus lips
To lungs hardly attended for the thought the mind were dreaming.
His smile tasted like hummus.
Project a moment
His light frame on yours
And know, each night, my evening meditation
His hands were an extension of his wrist
Like pretty talons on a sparrow
Those fingers, frigid flanges
Danced along my trembling vision
Every moment and in slumber
Hallow music-
His legato medley every day of words
Crescendo of emotion
Climbing higher into wordless adoration
There exists, on this wide planet, yet one sound so sweet
It harmonizes with itself in an onanic manner
That voice that with a reedy song
Pulls Dawn through the horizon
And at once negates the hymen of a starless night
I am broken at his very respiration
All my virtue is a measure of his value
I have nothing.
What I was is but a monument of what his excellence has been
That I breathe is but a mercy and a testament of beauty unrelenting
Strong by merit to the point of therapeutic attribute
Consider, for a moment, all the wonder of my love
Sky
Vibrant hair, soft flame
A laughing unawareness
Open-ended sky
Anonymous Lover
We brushed eyes in the marketplace
I was a child.
He was a child.
Perhaps I loved him for the lashes of his eyes
Dark stones
Like treasure of pistachios
Gone rotten
Black and green and bitter on the tongue
Despite the total normalcy of its encasing
How anonymous he was
The man I might have known in passing
I stood on the subway.
He stood on the subway.
Eyes closed, gripping at the pole with rosy knuckles
I exhaled as he inhaled
And, unknowingly, he shared with me an intimate experience
There, in the tight space I tasted in the inside of his lungs
He sat at the wooden pew.
I sat at the wooden pew.
An angel looked us over
Though when spirits smirk
We men are none the wiser
I let him go
And he released me from my
Will to to occupy a room
He stood at the mirror.
I stood at the mirror.
Waiting for the colors on the glossy wall
To realize themselves and fashion into a companion.
I wept with my hands that evening
He wept with his hands that evening.
His palms made heavy, sobbing sounds.
My fingers played a game of silent sorrow.
I loved him from across a question
He marveled what face my spirit belonged to.
I stood in the noose.
He stood in the noose.
Embracing one another without knowing
We drank in our fate
Like oil in the midst of grapes fermented
Red and black, with bitterness between them
Each waiting for the other to arrive
And end the solitude
I waited alone.
He waited alone.
Not four feet from one another.
Faceless Concept
Anonymity
Vagabond, hollow freedom
Right hand knows not left
Cobblestone and Good Intentions
Maybe
We're all going to Hell
The whole lot of us
Every second inching closer
Taking two steps forward
One step back
To and from Damnation
I'd not be surprised
To lift my eyes and
See the blood of Saints coating the walls
Of my subconscious
Like cheap paint on a public school door
Chipping when the wind blows
And fading when it rains
Or some unrefined vigilante
Feels the urge to piss upon a symbol of society.
O, how blissfully ironic is the fate of our great nation
Virgin Liberty has been preserved, a lady in her grave.
How fitting that her handmaidens so avidly insist
Her chain of Chasity be fastened
Know they not their copper goddess
Fell to Toxic Shock Syndrome some time ago
When the Tree of Liberty
Exceeded its absorbency?
The Blood of Tyrants is a stagnant wine
Dead, stinking, and deoxygenated like the minds of them that would
Sit patiently in pews of wood
And kneel at crowded altars
Waiting for the return of someone they read about in the check-out line
But never mind the trees that gave the wood
And never mind the crowded slums where Heathens hear no word of mercy
I think, at times, the multitude is marching out of Kemet
And into the gates of Hell
The gates through which we trod are open
The way is broad, and spacious as the Arms of God have infinite capacity
Fire by night, and cloud of CO2 by day
A pillar of salt for they that look back at the way things used to be
The way we used to love the LORD with all our hearts, with all our minds, with all our might
The way we used to drink the wine of passion and pursuit of understanding
The way we used to honor our families, dead and living, with our quiet mannerisms
And let us not remember how we fought for Africa
Like rats for bread
And cut Her up
Then ripped her parts
Allowed her to regenerate, and severed every limb a second time
Let us never recall the way we dishonored the Great Mother
How fiercely we destroyed the old ways
How hyssop purged our spirits, and our hearts are white as snow
But we will always, through our curse, look like the true Holy Mother
We will bleed the same, and we will have the timbre of Her voice
Perhaps, I think, we are on the path to sure destruction
The penultimate excitement of anticipation ends
And beyond gentle sighs and flutters
The irreversibility of the orgasm will come
And we will found ourselves as Hope
Who spilled her seed upon the ground
We see Redemption was a good idea on paper
But salvation is a voluntary function
Devout prophets rarely practice
Much less find the common decency to recommend
Or even legalize unless honor demands demands it
The Patient Revelation
I have never known
Revelation to make haste
Error is silent
Magic Woman
Hope was in her heartbeat
And mercy in the curving of her hands
Those eyes that found me
Found me in a dark so thick my world was but a constant shade of
Cold, unfeeling, skepticism back-stitched with despair
But,oh, her beauty is a beacon