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Thursday, November 12, 2015

Done With You

 
 
 
DONE WITH YOU


I can no longer imagine living with you,
the writhing and churning of my gut tells me so.
Compact and yet touching every aspect,
certain and secure in your subtle confusions,
you manipulate everything, reach every corner,
stain every milk blood red.

I drink, and I remember.

Spirits we heard, choices we made
when things were safe, and as they should be.
Ghostly visitations
who reminded us of nothing,
never reflecting ourselves
back at ourselves.

In the doorway I was caught
by the staircase, one room bleeding
into the next,
never quite separate from you,
never apart from the consequences
of our actions.
When I fell, I fell right through you,
since you were never really there.
I can never really picture you
as I drink my problems dry.

I will no longer live with you.

I like the look of the light
in a room without you in it.
Dust motes dance in sunlight
caught between one breeze and the next,
the light blurs and compasses
never give you the true direction.

I found myself, where there might be something.

Dragging through the past with your net,
culling everything that you caused,
that you made to happen.
Cleared of detritus, this is the past,
running parallel under my sleep.
I look at the shadow you cast
and I am ashamed to say
I ever loved you.

I can no longer live with you.


©2006 Christopher Reilley
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Thursday, November 5, 2015

Poison to a Marionette

POISON TO A MARIONETTE


Pondering the dips and curves,
the shadowy plunges
made of cream,
the promontories of delight
that make up arcade rides
for my tongue,
I taste the salt of your memory
in a mouth that speaks without words.

Lust’s puppeteer, you are
a welcome visitor to my heart.
You spin me drunk, dry as I am,
sipping nothing but your eyes.
There is no sound -
as if it were plucked away, pocketed.
I dance to the rhythm of your acquiescence.

Chestnut strands, outlining porcelain
angles and curves competing for perfection,
each a marker on the side of a road
with no destination, save heat.
Light shadows complete the portrait,
a face seen by none but me, onstage.

Brought to life by
warm friction from skin
enticed by silence, and a smile,
I die, happily
diving into ocean shaded windows,
care both stolen and unmissed.

Crimson petals imprinting feather soft notions,
commands to follow desire
to a sea of sheets and clouds,
Indecision is
poison to a marionette.

©2011 Christopher Reilley
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