love lies bleeding



I hold my breath until my chest burns,

And my stomach churns,

And all I am yearns for the air I will not inhale;

My love lies bleeding, pale,

And I pray that the holy host, crowned in amaranth will hail

Him with kegs of the finest ale, and I can think

Only in the currency of kisses,

And all of me wishes

That they were as numerous as the riches of the empire,

But for all this desire,

We are down to the wire and, sharing a final embrace,

He turns to face the angels in their grace,

And I weep for him,

As the willows did, in that final wartime summer.


Upon the Ledger of Stolen Moments



Wearing her perfume

Is like donning Freya’s falcon coat –

A sacred ritual,

A thing not in the realm of mortal men,

An act of not-quite blasphemy

Akin to turning back the hourglass of life

One fraction of an instant –

Yet, I count the cost.


Pale Death doubtless keeps a tally

Of moments such as these,

Marking with his heavy quill

Each second I borrow from him,

For surely these stolen moments

Of desiderium for a dream long lost,

Of a kind of twilight haze that settles over one

Only in the aftermath,

When all that is left of her is silence,

Surely, for this, and more, I count the cost.


For these moments, surely

I sacrifice myself to myself,

Hanging upon the world tree impaled by my own blade,

Surely, a debt accrued must one day be paid,


For every moment of tender joy and ardent longing

I hoard in the bitter month of October,

Surely, I pay, one day in the middle

Of an otherwise blissful May.

Lost to Me



I know you exist,

Somewhere in the haze of my memory,

And I watch you through the thickening fog,

Swirling past the gaps borne of the years that separate us,

Gathering between me and my gallery of ghosts,

The people I left behind,

Those relationships that ended at the gallows,

And those that still haunt me.


But here’s to you, you whose name I don’t remember,

You who are lost to me,

You whom the fog has swallowed, entire,

Never to surface again

In imperfect memory;

Maybe I still dream of you;

I wouldn’t know,

For when I close my eyes to think of you,

It is just the mask of the past I see,

Lonely and completely, utterly lost to me.


Forgive me;

I have forgotten you.