Silly little details

 
You said
it was the way
I looked at you
played with your fingertips
drowned in your eyes

starving your skin
you felt happiness again

your very words
butterflies in droves

stomachquake of love

yes, happiness

I held as long as I could
until you went home
and fucked your partner
for yes, of course
he took precedence
over everything
and of course
I wasn’t legitimate
in any way
and you were a butterfly
intoxicated on fields of flowers
and I happened to have one
ready to bloom

I let you pick
bunches by the armful
you smelt them to exhaustion
examined each
cupped in your hands
then lovingly
you sapped them all
one by one wilted
until the hill, sombre, faded
and you went home
content, sated by
all of those silly little details
which, somehow, mattered
but, eventually, didn’t

who knows how many fields
how many silly little details
laid to waste there

I held as long as I could
until you went to love more
someone more deserving
and let’s face it, better
with all my silly little details
folded up in two
in a fraying petal
soon forgot
inconsequential
in the grand face of
the supernova
of your other love

 

Us all

Death born as us

borne within us

every second of every minute

not even masquerading or posing

undetectable not because 

it is a part of us

but because it is us

not even waiting to be

just being

Existing

as us

innocent until darkened

innocuous until stained

until the will to live eternal

grips it at its core

wrenches the madness

inside its shell

until finally, when the time has come

a time not even it could determine

it unleashes life as its ultimate weapon

killing us with an overabundance of it

cells upon cells upon cells

feeding us the life it takes from us

feasting with a gargantuan appetite 

until monstrous, adipose, ignoble

deformed beyond belief and recognition

now a behemoth, yet celerous and cunning 

with unlimited resources and craft

infests and corrupts, multiform

unique and multiple

insatiable, unoblivious but adamant

because in fine the lifeblood

can flow eternal

life only matters

its fear of death killing it eventually

Unstoppable, suicidal

outpacing our ability to cope 

with its greed, its power

the aporia irreconcilable 

killing us eventually

for just being

a cell, a soul, us all –

It starts, and ends, with us.

Palms

 
In the concave of her hands
The water as an ocean
A gowpen of hope
Larger than galaxies
From which we both drank

In the concave of her hands
The soil orb-like
Brimming with life
Delicately deposed
Tree, plant or flower to be

In the concave of her hands
The sun as if harvested
A cornucopia of fruits
Carefully pitted and washed
The season allowed bounty

In the concave of her hands
Hollowed-out space
All but empty
I buried my face
Finally finding love, and rest.