I know well that I shouldn’t want you.
I know well That I shouldn’t want you. I stifle Desire and care With all the fury Of a corrupted saint Entreating moments Past and future for mercy. And atonement.
I know that Spirits are astir Within me With vague intentions. A specter of desire Comes to rest On the ridge of your vein Where your palm begins To stroke my face. Three phantasmic Little urchins Dally precariously With the threshold Of my awareness Of your presence, Threatening to obscure it With three shades of dust In the name Of perpetual penitence, Of chaste lullabys Forcing rest.
I know well That You do not see me. You have never seen me And never will Save through chipped glass Thickened with Red wine turned to gel Encrusted with Unanswered appeals To tomorrow, Using the songs of old. But with your voice Clarity arises And makes the flute cry (Like yesterday), Perhaps at the sight Of empty crystalline Sparrows All gathered along The river bend Where I shall want to Accompany you, Tomorrow.
Art: “Panopticon 2” Guy Denning