From you, I have learned

The hidden location of the rock tiger on Lake Superior
The secret moss that covers the skin of the walking dead
The shadowy wreaths that hang about the necks of old women
The veiled grip of time that clutches sanguine lovers
The unheard howl of desolation and erotica
The concealed wisdom of those who understand love differently
The buried trail that a pair of eyes leaves beneath another’s skin
The unseen vacuum of a song that is lost completely

A rough draft of a new piece, with reference to Oscar Wilde and Johannes Brahms. Good week for writing.

Passacaglia

As I let go of
the gnarled and chiseled fingers
of this same hand that used to
brush over my waiting skin
or tuck the dark blonde curl
back into its place behind my ear,
A thought like music
drifted like an indefinable harmony,
That if the Wilde heart
is meant to be broken
than mine is perfectly made.