My Dear Isabella
(January 19, 2013)
Beneath the cypress tree
along the winding forgotten road-
In the hot noon hour of un-metered time-
your straw hat hung in the shade,
your pure, icy gaze
gored my soul like a lunging bull,
my wounds bled truth.
Your gaze scorched me like the sun,
heat spiraled me into hallucinations.
scarlet and gold
exited your being
yet remained wired to your core.
Your spirit, a fay,
an essence from the gods
My fingers traced your strong jaw-line,
yours violently plucked my heart strings.
The gods, the fays, want souls, not silver.
Guns and swords leave cleaner wounds,
You left me small,
a mewing kitten,
yet a beastly ape-man.
Large and unruly,
My jus de vie drained,
a crimson-colored pool on the floor.
My dear, cruel Isabella:
life and love are not fleshy fruit
They are smoothed stones,
old, tried, true,
yet hard and unrelenting.
Remember the cypress tree,
cite your empty promises.
Souls are not owned,
by you or me,
but by the ever-tumbling realms of eternity.