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Friday, March 24, 2006

Isolation Thirst
poem not writen by me

Alone in the far corner
of a world of dreams
I listen to the plaintive whisper
of sweet memories with wings
clipped with time fluttering
a sedate, soothing rythm
through this cool flesh sliding
so namelessly familiar
over this landscape of loose
translation. She kisses me,
slowly forces herself through me;
my trembling assembles a tacit myth:
this is of significance.
We move in lasting time,
resisting a sense of desperate secrecy.
Then, somewhere far below us,
the strangers, the rest of them,
begin to stir. I need not ask
she stay until I forget.
And we are laughing--
the day has come too soon
And we are sobbing.
This is a stranger's clutch;
so little time to learn so much--
as if no other night could bring
such a futile, fleeting touch.
And because she sighs,
and because she sings
as she becomes my pain--
I must steal the night again.
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