From your Languorous Paramour

Forgive my spent-ness;

this paramour

of yours

drifting

so politely

in my state of love and languor.

Sweetly

was I left chanting

beneath this brittle window

broken

from my time

hanging between the stars.

I have lied

my anxious husband

drugged and comatose

on

weeks apart

and scars

all to unforgiving

that have pierced our combined flesh.

Have I been lovely to you?

Creating this melody

as I have;

this Isolde complex

and boxed in seating arrangements.

I can't help my splendor,

my natural beauty,

porcelain

opals and pearls

that have hung from my hair

to better establish my time period.

My dresses to refined

for the likes of you.

Have you forgiven me yet?

A curse

to catapult us into this new age

of unanswered questions

and dialogue

whispered

behind street lamps

and warm sheets.

Have I become forbidden

my dear one

a name no longer uttered

for my time here

has left its mark

unjustified

beneath my breast.

If white lines were to have formed, my love

they might have lead us astray

so

thankfully

I did not wish them to guide our way.

It is this silence, my love

and the unrequited notes from this languorous paramour

quoting pin-up poetry before an audience of millions

that has occupied my nights now.

My love have you sought me out?

In the milky-white smoothness that has followed our end.

The times

that labeled me a whore

and you

something less then innocent.

Is it wrong that I still see love in you eyes

even if you do not dream of me as you used to.

But sweet, my love

have these drugs affected you so greatly that you must cast my chants away

a strong hand to a frightened child.

Have my memories become shadows

and my face

in the glass

glowing ever still.

Would you forgive me if I begged a kiss, my love

stolen

on the cheek

or on the hand

innocent

as it was when we were children

singing the same songs

while not separated by genre as we are now.

Have you forgiven me yet, my sweet husband

for the wrongs that we have done each other

so delicate, our dreams

delusionized

by too many sorrows,

too many woes

my husband

have our bodies burned.

Will you allow me to crumble in your arms?

Cry out

that I still see in you, all that I loved so long ago.

Will you sit beside me again

and talk for hours

about local tragedies

and house-hold gods

that I once prayed to

to keep the pipes from freezing in winter.

Do you remember these rooms, my love

where alone did I chant

my devotion toward you

stronger then words on my paper,

stronger then the whole of myself

insignificant

as I was

in those days.

I clung to you

my love

when the sun went down

and thunder clapped

breaking the trees into severed limbs

fallen into the road ways

of our moments together.

Should I kiss you again, my love

and let ourselves once more become

dreams

dangling

between the stars.