Questions of Closure
What sense does it make
That trembling of lip?
Has not passion’s mouth spit out
The love seeds sprouting in its heart?
How will you bear the dryness
As the minutes tick into the black void?
How will you move
Through the fire that leaps from friction?
How will your blood clot
As it spills out into blankness
That tear in your voice
That professes the closure of thought?
Is it not a wonder
You became as old as you have?
Passion upon the Page
After my original poem “To Profess Her a Fool”
It follows blind logic that he should scramble
Sensing my skill in dousing his flicker.
It also follows that he should reckon on what he will miss
If he never grasps the reason beyond my words,
If he never clutches the deep core of my heart,
If he never touches the hem of my soul’s garment.
How will his bones bear such a lack?
How will his brain tame the flames of envy
That leap at thoughts of my power?
How will his blood keep its liquid jealousy from spilling
The passion upon the page that professes him a fool?
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