2nd Draft SST8 Trespassing

24 Jan

Trespassing

joshua jones

 

I trespass the boundary not seeing a witness

into the fair graveyard embraced by my mistress

whom I so desire

hands held tightly bound as if by wire

we push the gate open and share a laugh

commence our parade on the dead’s behalf

with a stride of pride and colourful gloat

and a scarlet scarf tied around my throat

she’s the envy of Eden, so lovely

and with her I behold autumnal trees

bearing fruit in season, radiant leaves

covering with shadows engraved stones

she quips, “They’re not verbose, these bones

but how they keep me from feeling alone

they have, I fancy, a tongue all their own.”

cold hallow grounds we walk and how she walks!

like liquid poetry; captive to her

words and eyes with romance’s wizardry

on a bench my heart finds comfort and rest

with her on my lap my head to her breast

things which are capable of flying do:

sparrows, convictions, hours, butterflies

my hunger her rich presence satisfies

I see a gravestone with my lady’s name

“You’re jinxed now” I say, in a playful game

“Before day’s end, you will shed a tear.”

Eyes rolled back, “Nonsense! And so cavalier!

Tell me, Mr.Wise, what of tears we shed?”

“Caught in spirit jars, stored until we’re dead.

or at least I fancy to think.”

I say with a smile and wink

her laugh and fragrance sends my soul to flight

intoxicated, I yearn for a bite

of her, my heart, my orientation

if it feels right can’t call it temptation

she pulls me tight

I do not fight

I taste.

 

A church bell pierces the enchanted air

she asks me “People die as does love. Why?”

Feeling exposed I speak quick on the fly

“We have trespassed and are all far from… home.”

we loosen our hands, gaze at crimson leaves

yellows, oranges leak life like antifreeze

while the humans are leaking faithful love

she asks “How could our love ever be wrong?”

excruciating, her words a sharp prong

“The brighter the singing archangel is

the more toxic the devil when it falls.”

“Can we not partake of Love when it calls?”

her questions rain kisses of agony

please won’t the mountains fall and cover me?

“Is it love, dear friend, I’ve been giving you?

Or have I just been filling my own thirsts?

Affection will be raised in glory true,

but the seed must die and be buried first.”

“Are there no short cuts for us you can see?”

gasping for breath and inhaling in pain

is what I’m wearing a scarf or a chain?

“Here’s the paradox:

to find our life we must loose it.

At this our crosswalks:

we must die before we will die.”

amid our fears my words she hears

we worship leaking salty tears

into a bottle each one drips

stored beyond the decay of time

to mature to the finest wine

reserved for resurrected lips

so with a nod we leave the dead to God

kick with my boot a piece of fallen fruit

knowing all is well and will be well

witnessed by the throngs of heaven and hell

we swing the old gate outwardly,

and cross the ancient boundary

to the living world no more a trickster

but contrite with my sister (in the faith)

whom I so love

hands soaring free and lifted up above

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