Cenotaph

This place marks

a superb spot,

where everyone expects

me to reside,

to germinate undisturbed,

dispassionate, deep.

They do not know

it is an empty tomb;

for I lie elsewhere,

with a dash of Viking,

linger ripe, sleep dark
in another's arms.

tk

R.A.D. adds beautiful life to my words...

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Poppy

I save the red nostalgic kiss.

After the longest moment of silence,

press the petals to my lips.

I have kept the faith, knowing I would love

and be loved, intimately

remember how November lies,

cenotaph on the other side of the Atlantic.

I am like a ghost who signals,

hears the same blood-beat in my ear;

chance shrapnel delivers

the opiate churning up of earth.

This late-flowering lust.

tk/November 2014


Excellent read by R.A.D. Stainforth...love the rare smile...

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