In Love with this man
was an idle hole
into which the autumn fell.
And neither could I bring myself to deny
the allure of aureoles or gracile shoulders--
or by nature his nose: wet to brow in flora.
When suckled,
his innocence welled lucidly
in the porcelain between our mouths.
Elsewhere, the narrowing cheek of an archangel
left to expire outside the gates,
sheened in piercing sound.
The trilling cicadas called him forth from me,
while still I laid in our bed at home,
a gaping altar abandoned at the call of God.
Surely something must be left of him
beyond the illuminati and the dust and the manuscripts.
Author notes
sfumato: literally: "smoky;" an Italian term for a painting technique of flawless or undetectably blended transitions.
Comments
1 - 5 of 5
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really lovely diction, the porcelain, the illuminati. very rich.
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Thank you for noticing.
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I can relate to this feeling very much...the way we invent people within our experiences of them...then we go looking again for the way we invented them only to find that they became who they really were all along, we just failed to notice it...the light was so pretty!
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Thanks, Zayra.
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